


To See You Soon

by brookester27



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, will loosely follow the books
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2018-09-23 10:56:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9652892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brookester27/pseuds/brookester27
Summary: A young Hermione meets an otherwordly blonde girl during her family vacation to Nice, France. She never thought that she would see her again, but the Triwizard Tournament brings them back together in more ways than one.“De rien. I ‘ope to see you again someday.” Her fingers lightly brushed a stray hair out of Hermione’s face, and she then ghosted her lips against Hermione’s cheek. “A bientôt.”And then she was gone.





	1. The Delacours

The sound of waves crashing ashore was not unfamiliar to the young Hermione. They did have beaches in Britain, but the waves here were different. They sparkled brightly in the morning sun and captured Hermione’s eye in a way that the dull and drab British beaches never could. The French beaches were swarming with people, both residents and tourists, rather than shards of broken seashells and the occasional dead fish that washed up on the British shore. 

If Hermione hadn’t already spent much of her vacation on the beach, she would have been tempted to spend a large majority of the day down on the shore. The first day the Granger family spent in France involved a trip to the beach, though Hermione spent most of her time soaking up the sun on her shoulders and back as she watched a crab scuttle back and forth through the surf and attempted to determine why it acted so erratic. 

Today, the Granger family was taking a nice stroll along the beach of Nice, France. They were on their way to the Musee d’Art et d’Histoire Palais Massena, and had decided to walk rather than to bike or drive. Taking in the sights was their main objective, though Hermione would say that they were more lost than they were taking in the sights. As they walked, Hermione’s father stared down at a map in his hands, and could occasionally be seen rotating it in numerous directions and turning his head in the opposite direction, as if doing either of those would aid him in figuring out where they were going. 

“Darling,” said Hermione’s mother in a patronizing voice, “you’re not going to be able to decipher what that map says – it’s in French. Why don’t we stop and I ask for directions?”

Mr. Granger grumbled to himself. “I’m fairly certain I know where we are now.” He looked up from the map to take in his surroundings. “No, that’s not right…”

Hermione shook her head. She and her mother took the map from her father. “Stay right here and I’ll go ask for directions,” said Mrs. Granger. 

There was a roadside stand nearby with three blonde ladies browsing its wares. Mrs. Granger and Hermione approached.

“Bonsoir, um, je suis désolé,” started Mrs. Granger uncertainly. “Tu parles anglais?”

First, the eldest of the blondes turned around, and it was clear that she was the mother of the other two. Hermione and her mother were met with polite smiles from the three, though the youngest girl, who looked to be about six, seemed to be smiling more at the poor French than in greeting. The other girl caught Hermione’s interest, as she was more around her age. The girl had long, flowing blonde hair that hung all the way down to the middle of her back. Her eyes were a bright blue, much like the clear skies of France, and her smile was lined with perfect white teeth that any dentist would be eager to witness. She was taller than Hermione, though that was a fairly common occurrence that Hermione was beginning to notice. 

“Bonsoir!” greeted the blonde woman. “Oui, I speak English, as does Fleur, my eldest.” She gestured at the girl Hermione had been studying. “My name is Apolline, and this is my youngest, Gabrielle.”

“My name is Jean, and this is my daughter Hermione,” stated Mrs. Granger. “My husband is David, but he’s busy sulking at the moment.” Her comment was met with laughs from Apolline and Fleur. Apolline stepped forward and greeted the two with the customary cheek kisses.

“Now, is something the matter?” asked Apolline.

“We’ve gotten a bit lost, and we would like directions to the Musee d’Art et d’Histoire,” Hermione chipped in. 

Fleur’s eyes lit up at the name of the museum. “Zat ees my favorite mooseum!” Her English dissolved into rapid French as she chattered something off to Apolline that was far too fast for either Hermione or Jean to catch. 

Apolline laughed at her daughter. “Fleur would like to know if we could escort you there, and perhaps join you as you peruse the museum as well?” Apolline translated.

“We would be delighted!” Jean answered. Within a few minutes, Jean and David were following after Apolline and making polite conversation with her while Hermione, Fleur, and Gabrielle brought up the rear.

“Je m’app – pardon. My name ees Fleur, eet ees nice to meet you, ‘Ermione,” said Fleur, introducing herself to Hermione again. The blonde girl reached a hand out to Hermione.

Hermione shook her hand and smiled politely. “Hullo, Fleur. It’s quite kind of you and your family to show us to the museum.”

“Non, eet ees no problem, really,” Fleur said, waving a hand to dismiss the kind gesture. “I’m certain we would ‘ave gone to ze mooseum later today. I love ‘istory, after all.”

Hermione perked up at that. She too had a love of history, particularly having to do with the history of various wizards and witches, though she couldn’t tell Fleur that. What if she was a muggle? She’d be brought in to the ministry and punished for breaking the Statute of Secrecy, and she was certain that she would never get to see the light of day again.

“What’s your favorite part to learn about?” Hermione asked. 

“Ze révolution française,” Fleur excitedly responded with no hesitation. “I wrote a – ‘ow do you Eenglish say – report on eet when I was younger. Eet ees fascinating to me.”  
Hermione smiled at her response, and missed the knowing look that her parents gave the three girls. She believed that they would be very fast and very good friends.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Over the course of the next three days, the Granger family was dragged all around Nice by the Delacour family. Fleur and Hermione were quick to befriend each other. They were both intelligent, bookworms, and extremely studious. The two of them loved history, though Fleur seemed significantly more interested in galleon ships and pirate lore than Hermione ever could be. Hermione surmised it had something to do with living near the French Riviera with all the ships docked there. 

However, through all the hanging around Fleur and her family, the more she began to suspect that they weren’t as normal as they seemed. Fleur and Gabrielle walked with such grace that they seemed to float alongside Hermione, and they turned the heads of many men as they passed. Hermione knew that they were incredibly pretty, even Gabrielle at her young age, but something seemed…otherworldly about the female Delacours. 

Today, the Grangers and Delacours were down on the beach one final time before the Grangers left for Britain in the morning. At this point, Hermione’s skin was several shades darker than it would ever get while she was in Britain. She had several new freckles on her shoulders and cheeks, and she had gotten used to the feeling of the warm sand between her toes. 

Fleur was dressed in a flowy white shirt and shorts that left most of her long legs exposed. She was taking advantage of the shorts by wading into the surf to study the fish that would dart between her legs.

“‘Ermione!” Fleur called excitedly. She turned back to see Hermione look up from where she was helping Gabrielle dig out a moat for her sand castle. “Come look at ze poisson!” Hermione stood, brushed sand off her knees, and went to join Fleur. Small fish with shimmering blue scales leisurely swam around Hermione’s ankles.

“Oh! They’re much prettier than the fish you might see back home,” said Hermione with wonder in her eyes. 

“I believe zat zere are plenty of pretty feesh een Britain,” Fleur softly replied. When Hermione tore her gaze from the fish below, she caught Fleur sending her a sly wink. Hermione’s cheeks grew heated and she was certain her face was as bright as a stop light. “So, ‘Ermione, where did you say zat you went to school?”

Hermione was glad for the change in the conversation, if for the sake of her burning cheeks. “Um, a boarding school up in Scotland.”

The conversation circled around academics for a while, then changed to Fleur explaining just what exactly bouillabaisse was, and then onto other topics such as how many pets they had (or didn't have, in Hermione's case) and what their friends were like. Hermione could’ve sworn she saw Fleur’s eyes widen when she said Harry’s name, but she was soon distracted by Fleur’s laugh when she followed that up by claiming that Harry and Ron were both a couple of dunderheads. 

All too soon, it was time for the Grangers to depart to their hotel for the night before taking off in the morning. Apolline was saying her farewells to Jean and David while cradling an exhausted Gabrielle to her chest. Fleur pulled something from the back pocket of her shorts.

“‘Ere.” She handed Hermione a thin, silvery chain with a small, matching silver flower pendant on it. The necklace seemed to be rather warm to the touch.

Hermione gasped. “Fleur, it’s beautiful! But…I can’t keep this. I don’t have anything for you.”

“S’il te plaît, ‘Ermione. Keep eet. To remind you of me,” Fleur said softly. She smiled shyly, and leaned forward.

“Merci, Fleur.” Hermione clasped the necklace around her neck with Fleur’s help. “It was nice meeting you and your lovely family.”

Fleur smiled widely. “De rien. I ‘ope to see you again someday.” Her fingers lightly brushed a stray hair out of Hermione’s face, and she then ghosted her lips against Hermione’s cheek. “A bientôt.”

And then she was gone, leaving a red-faced Hermione behind in her wake.


	2. The Delegations of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set a year and a half after Hermione's vacation in France, she is now fifteen and in her fourth year. The competitors for the Triwizard Tournament arrive and an old friend makes a reappearance.

**A year and a half later…**

  
If there was one thing Hermione despised about Hogwarts, it was how cold and drafty the castle was during the colder months. She simply desired to wake up in the morning and not have to immediately desire that she had pants as a part of her school uniform. Wearing a skirt in a drafty castle was not particularly high on her to-do list and there was only so much a warming charm could do.

Hermione did her usual morning routine before meeting the boys in the common room. Harry’s hair was as tousled and messy as ever, while on the other hand, Ron’s hair was sticking up at an odd angle on the left side of his head.

“Honestly, Ronald,” Hermione sighed. She waved her wand in his direction and watched his hair smooth itself down into some semblance of order. Ron simply shrugged.

The three friends made their way down to the Great Hall for breakfast, but were met with a large crowd of people gathered around a large sign that had been erected at the foot of the marble staircase. Ron – being the tallest of his friends – stood on the tips of his toes and read it aloud to the other two:

**TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT**

                                                          **THE DELEGATIONS FROM BEAUXBATONS AND DURMSTRANG WILL BE**

**ARRIVING AT 6 O’CLOCK TODAY, FRIDAY THE 30 TH OF OCTOBER. LESSONS**

**WILL END HALF AN HOUR EARLY. STUDENTS WILL RETURN THEIR BAGS**

**AND BOOKS TO THEIR DORMITORIES AND ASSEMBLE IN FRONT OF THE**

**CASTLE TO GREET OUR GUESTS BEFORE THE WELCOMING FEAST.**

“Brilliant!” said Ron. We have Potions last thing today! Snape won’t have time to insult us all!”

Harry clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m sure he’ll make time for it, mate.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Nobody was very attentive during lessons, as they were much more interested in the arrival that evening of the people from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. Even Potions was the tiniest bit more bearable than usual, as it was half an hour shorter. When the bell rang early, Harry, Ron, and Hermione rushed up to Gryffindor Tower, deposited their bags and books as they had been instructed earlier, pulled on their cloaks, and hurried back downstairs into the entrance hall. There, the Heads of Houses were ordering their students into lines.

“Miss Patil, take that ridiculous thing out of your hair. Weasley, straighten your tie and cloak, I will not allow this school to become besmirched by your sloppiness,” barked Professor McGonagall. “And, Potter, _please_ comb through your hair!”

Parvati Patil frowned and pulled a large ornamental butterfly from the end of her plait, Ron grumbled as he straightened out his clothes, and Hermione fruitlessly attempted to help Harry comb through his wild hair with her fingers.

“Follow me, please,” said Professor McGonagall. “First years in front, no pushing…”

They filed down the steps and lined up in front of the castle. It was a chilly, clear evening. Dusk was already falling and a pale moon was already shining over the Forbidden Forest across the grounds. Hermione, standing between Harry and Neville in the fourth row from the front and with Ron on Harry’s other side, could see little Dennis Creevey absolutely quivering with excitement among the other first years.

“It’s nearly six,” said Harry, checking his watch and then staring down the drive that led to the front gates. “How d’you reckon they’re coming? The train?”

“I doubt it,” said Hermione. “If I were to guess, I’d say they try to arrive in the most extravagant way possible.”

“How would they do that?” Harry asked. “Broomsticks?” He looked up into the starry sky.

“I don’t believe so…not from that far away…”

“A Portkey?” Ron suggested. “Or they could Apparate – maybe you’re allowed to do it under seventeen wherever they come from?”

“You can’t Apparate inside Hogwarts' grounds, how often do I have to tell you?” said Hermione rather impatiently.

All the students scanned the grounds rather excitedly, but nothing was moving. Everything was still, silent, and quite ordinary. Hermione was starting to feel cold. She wished they would hurry up. Perhaps the foreign students really were preparing a dramatic entrance. After all, wizards and witches couldn't resist showing off when they got together.

And then Dumbledore called out from the back row where he stood with the other teachers.

“Aha! Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!”

“Where?” said many eager students, all looking in different directions.

 _“There!”_ yelled Parvati Patil, pointing at the sky above the forest.

Something large, much larger than a hundred broomsticks was hurtling across the deep blue sky toward the castle, and was growing larger by the second.

“It’s a dragon!” shrieked a Ravenclaw first year, losing her head completely.

“Don’t be stupid – it’s a flying house!” said Dennis Creevey.

“No…” gasped Hermione, nearly breathless from the sheer size of it. “It’s a carriage…”

As the gigantic black shape skimmed over the treetops of the Forbidden Forest and the torch lights shining from the castle hit it, they saw a gigantic, powder blue, horse-drawn carriage, the size of a very large house, soaring toward them. The carriage was pulled through the air by a dozen winged horses, all palominos, and each the size of an elephant.

The front three rows of students shuffled backward as the carriage hurled even lower, coming in to land at a tremendous speed. Then, with an almighty crash that made Neville jump backward onto a Slytherin fifth year’s foot, the horses’ hooves, larger than dinner plates, hit the ground. A second later, the carriage landed too, bouncing upon its vast wheels, while the golden horses tossed their enormous heads and rolled large, fiery red eyes.

A boy in pale blue robes hopped out of the carriage, bent forward, fumbled for a moment with something on the carriage floor, and unfolded a set of golden steps. He then sprang back respectfully. Then Hermione saw a shining, high-heeled black shoe emerging from the inside of the carriage. This shoe was then followed by the largest woman she had ever seen in her entire life. The size of the carriage, and of the horses, was immediately explained. A few people gasped at the sheer size of the woman.

This woman, despite Hermione being used to the height of Hagrid, seemed unnaturally large. As she stepped into the light flooding from the entrance hall, she was revealed to have a handsome, olive-skinned face; large, black, liquid-looking eyes; and a rather beaky nose. Her hair was drawn back in a shining knob at the base of her neck. She was dressed from head to foot in black satin, and many magnificent opals gleamed at her throat and on her thick fingers.

Dumbledore started to clap. The students, following his lead, broke into applause too, many of them standing on tiptoe to get a better look at this woman.

Her face relaxed into a gracious smiles and she walked forward toward Dumbledore, extending a large, glittering hand. Dumbledore, despite being tall himself, had barely to bend to kiss it.

“My dear Madame Maxime,” he said. “Welcome to Hogwarts.”

“Dumbly-dorr,” said Madame Maxime in a deep voice. “I ‘ope I find you well?”

“In excellent form, I thank you,” said Dumbledore.

Hermione noticed that about a dozen boys and girls, all, by the look of them, in their late teens, had emerged from the carriage and were now standing behind Madame Maxime. They were shivering, which was not surprising, given that their robes seemed to be made of fine silk, and none of them were wearing cloaks.

“‘As Karkaroff arrived yet?” Madame Maxime asked.

“He should be here at any moment, said Dumbledore. “Would you like to wait here and greet him or would you prefer to step inside and warm up a trifle?”

“Warm up, I think,” said Madame Maxime. “But ze ‘orses –”

“Our Care of Magical Creatures teacher will be delighted to take care of them,” said Dumbledore. “I assure you that Hagrid will be well up to the job.”

Madame Maxime bowed slightly. “Very well. Will you please inform zis ‘Agrid zat ze ‘orses drink only single-malt whiskey?”

“It will be attended to,” said Dumbledore, also bowing.

As the Beauxbatons students huddled inside the building, the Hogwarts students stood, shivering slightly now, waiting for the Durmstrang party to arrive. Most people were gazing hopefully up at the sky.

Suddenly, a loud and eerie noise was drifting toward them from out of the darkness: a muffled rumbling and sucking sound, as though an immense vacuum cleaner were moving along the riverbed. From their position at the top of the lawns overlooking the grounds, they had a clear view of what was happening in the lake. Some disturbance was taking place deep in the center. Great bubbles were forming on the surface, waves were washing over the muddy banks, and then, out in the very middle of the lake, a whirlpool appeared, as if a gigantic plug had just been pulled out of the lake’s floor.

What seemed to be a long, black pole began to rise slowly out of the heart of the whirlpool. And then Hermione saw rigging.

“It’s a mast!” Hermione whispered to Harry and Ron. _Fleur would love this ship if she were here,_ Hermione thought.

Slowly, the ship rose out of the water, gleaming in the moonlight. It had an eerie skeletal look about it, as though it were a resurrected wreck, and the dim, misty lights shimmering at its portholes looked like ghostly eyes. Finally, with a great sloshing noise, the ship emerged entirely, bobbing on the turbulent water, and began to glide toward the bank. A few moments later, they heard the splash of an anchor being thrown down in the shallows, and the thud of a plank being lowered onto the bank.

Durmstrang had arrived.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

 _  
_ For heaven’s sake, Ron, he’s only a Quidditch player,” said Hermione.

 _“Only a Quidditch player?”_ Ron said, looking at her as if he couldn’t believe his ears. “Hermione – he’s one of the best Seekers in the world! I had no idea he was still in school!"

The three friends walked over to the Gryffindor table and sat down. Ron made sure to sit on the side facing the doorway, because Krum and his fellow Durmstrang students were still gathered around it, apparently unsure about where they should sit. The students from Beauxbatons had chosen seats at the Ravenclaw table. They were looking around the Great Hall with glum expressions on their faces. Several of them were still clutching scarves and shawls around their heads.

“It’s not _that_ cold,” said Hermione defensively. “Why didn’t they think to bring cloaks?”

Ron elbowed Hermione in the ribs. “Hermione, budge up, make a space,” Ron hissed. Hermione shot him a glare and defiantly stayed where she was. Viktor Krum and his fellow classmates walked past the Gryffindor table and settled themselves at the Slytherin table. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle looked awfully smug about this. “Thanks, Hermione, now he’s sitting with Malfoy!”

“He’s just a Quidditch player!” She eyed his thick black eyebrows and prominently curved nose. “Looks like any regular boy to me.”

“He’s the greatest Seeker _alive!_ ” Ron argued.

Hermione would have snipped back if it wasn’t for Dumbledore standing up from the Head Table.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and – most particularly – guests,” said Dumbledore. He beamed at the foreign students. “I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable. The tournament will officially be opened at the end of the feast. Until then, I invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!”

Dumbledore then spread his arms wide, and the plates in front of everyone filled with food, as was usual. The house elves in the kitchen seemed to have pulled out all the stops; there was a greater variety of dishes in front of them than Hermione had ever seen, including several that were definitely foreign.

“What’s _that?_ ” demanded Ron, pointing at a large dish of some sort of shellfish stew that had appeared in front of Hermione.

“Bouillabaisse,” Hermione answered as she helped herself to a portion of it.

“Bless you,” said Ron.

“Honestly, Ronald. It’s _French_ ,” said Hermione. “I had it on holiday summer before last. It’s very nice.”

The Great Hall somehow seemed much more crowded than usual, even though there were barely twenty additional students there. Perhaps it was because their differently colored uniforms stood out so elegantly against the black of the Hogwarts’ robes. Now that they had removed their furs, the Durmstrang students were revealed to be wearing robes of a deep blood red, and the powder blue of the Beauxbatons’ uniforms was a stark contrast against the black of the Hogwarts’ robes.

“Excuse me,” said a voice with an awfully familiar French accent from behind Hermione, “but are you wanting ze bouillabaisse?”

Hermione stiffened at the sound of the voice. The necklace with the delicate flower pendant around her neck grew to be unnaturally warm. That couldn’t be Fleur…could it? What were the chances that Fleur was both a witch and here in Hogwarts?

Hermione watched Ron flush a deep purple out of the corner of her eye. Ron’s mouth dropped open but only a faint gurgling noise came out. Harry, having noticed that his friends had suddenly become useless, pushed the dish in her direction and said, “Yeah, have it.”

“You ‘ave finished wiz it?”

“Yeah,” said Hermione breathlessly, mentally kicking herself back into action. “Yeah, it was excellent.” She picked up the dish and turned to hand it to the girl, intent on figuring out if this was Fleur for herself.

The bright blue eyes that were the exact same as the French skies met her own. Hermione was met with a familiar bright smile.

“Bonsoir, ‘Ermione,” said Fleur, her smile never fading. “Eet ees good to see you again.”

“Bonsoir, Fleur,” replied Hermione faintly. “Ça va?”

“Ça va. Très bien. You ‘ave been practicing your français,” Fleur observed, her smile somehow brightening in the dim torchlight of the Great Hall.

Hermione finally shook off the last vestiges of shock. “Yes, I’ve always liked the French language.” _Among other French things._

Fleur smiled again, but glanced back at her friends back at the Ravenclaw table. “I must go now with ze bouillabaisse. I am glad to ‘ave found you again, mon amie. A bientôt, ‘Ermione.”

Hermione watched Fleur walk away with the bouillabaisse. Ron and Harry stared open-mouthed at Hermione.

“Bloody hell, Hermione,” Ron exclaimed while attempting to discreetly wipe a trail of drool from his chin. “Why didn’t you ever tell us you were pals with a beautiful Frenchwoman?”

“She’s my friend, Ronald; I wouldn’t dare tell you anything about her.” Ron scowled at that. “You can’t even look at her without drooling.”

“Hey! I will have you know…”

Hermione ignored him, as she was more focused on watching Fleur’s retreating figure than she was on Ron’s petty argument over why he should be introduced to Fleur. She lifted her hand to lightly trace the necklace around her neck. It was cool to the touch again.

Hermione smiled to herself. Fleur was back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two is up and running! Thanks for sticking around and continuing to read To See You Soon. I already have the third chapter started, and I have a bit of an idea of where exactly the next few chapters will go. 
> 
> Again, I welcome anyone pointing out any mistakes that I may have missed when I proofread it. Little nudges to get working on the next chapter are also welcome.


	3. The Champions of the Triwizard Tournament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny catches on to how smitten Hermione is with Fleur and gets her thinking, and everyone is shocked when there's not three champions, but four.

As the next day was Saturday, most students would normally have eaten breakfast late. Harry, Ron, and Hermione, however, were not alone in rising much earlier than they usually did on the weekends. When they went down into the entrance hall, they saw a couple dozen people milling about. Some were eating toast, others reading that morning’s Daily Prophet, but they all were paying some semblance of attention to the Goblet of Fire, which had been placed in the center of the hall.

The Goblet of Fire was a large, roughly hewn wooden cup and was set on the rickety stool that normally bore the Sorting Hat. It would have been entirely unremarkable had it not been full to the brim with dancing blue-white flames and the thin golden line that was traced along the floor, forming a circle that was ten feet around it in every direction.

Ginny approached the three friends with a plate piled high with bacon, French toast, sausage, and scrambled eggs. She allowed Hermione to take a slice of French toast, but slapped her brother’s hands away from her pile of meat with a glare that promised a bat-bogey hex if he tried that again.

“Has anyone put their name in yet?” Ron asked once he got over being denied food.

“Most of the Durmstrang lot, and a couple of Beauxbatons boys,” answered Ginny. “The only one from Hogwarts I’ve seen was Warrington, that bloke from Slytherin that reminds me of a misshapen sloth.”

They all turned when they heard cheering. Fred, George, and Lee Jordan bounded over to the Goblet, tiny vials clutched in the twins' hands.

“We’ve done it!” exclaimed Fred.

“Perfected the aging potion – it’s bound to work,” said George.

“Exactly what I was thinking, Gred.”

“Are you ready then, Forge?”

“As ready as ever.”

Hermione sighed as Fred and George entwined their arms together and downed the contents of the tiny vials. “I hope they realize it’s never going to work.” The twins waited a second for the potion to kick in before they hopped over the golden line separating them from the Goblet. When nothing happened immediately, those watching cheered uproariously. The two of them then skipped forward and dropped their names into the Goblet. More cheers ensued for the Weasley twins.

Suddenly, the fire within the Goblet turned a nasty shade of acid green and spit their names back out, the singed parchment burning and turning to ashes before their eyes. Then there was a great sizzling noise, and they were thrust out of the circle as though they had been thrown by an invisible force. They landed painfully, ten feet away on the cold stone floor. To add insult to injury, there was a loud popping noise, and both of them sprouted identical long white beards.

Fred and George set off for the walk of shame to the hospital wing, accompanied by Lee, who was howling with laughter. Harry, Ron, and Hermione, also chortling, went in to eat breakfast as Ginny followed them over to a table and plopped down beside Hermione with her plate of food.

For a while, they sat and ate in silence, basking in the rare moment of peace. There were no unruly Slytherins, no one had much homework to complete over the weekend, and most importantly, no one was trying to maim Harry. The group of friends simply enjoyed their breakfast with one another.

Ginny finished off the last of the food on her plate and lazily rested her head on her hand. She wiped at her mouth with a nearby napkin, showing much more class than her brother, who Hermione noticed was mopping up the bacon grease around his mouth with the end of his sleeve.

Harry looked up from his plate of eggs and toast. “Mate, you got a little something right there.” Harry pointed first at a spot of grease on Ron’s chin, and then motioned around his entire face. Ron scowled.

Hermione was certain that Ron would have retorted with something rude and very uneducated sounding if the Beauxbatons students hadn’t just marched in. Instead, Ron turned purple and choked on a mouthful of food.

All of the students in the hall turned and watched each of the Beauxbatons students step within the age line and drop their name into the Goblet. Hermione was startled to see Fleur step forward. But that was why she was here. To compete in a life-threatening, magical tournament that Dumbledore assured them was safe, but nothing at Hogwarts was ever safe. Something always managed to go horribly wrong.

Ginny watched Hermione stare at the blonde girl that was tossing her name into the Goblet of Fire. What interest would Hermione have with her? Ginny noticed the blonde girl search through the crowd before shooting a smile in Hermione’s direction and giving her a small wave, which Hermione returned a bit shyly.

“Who’s that?” Ginny demanded of her friend.

Hermione broke out of her reverie. “What?” She glanced in the direction of the Goblet. “Her? She’s my friend from France that I met a while back,” she replied, her lips curving into a wide smile. “I never thought that she was a witch, I believed she was a muggle when we met. It’s wonderful to see her again.”

As the two girls talked, Harry dragged a purple Ron from the table, muttering something about flying around the Quidditch pitch that neither of the girls heard. Ginny was awfully interested in learning more about Fleur, especially since she had never heard anything about her before.

“She’s really quite nice, Gin,” Hermione said in a dreamy voice, not quite realizing that she was essentially fawning over Fleur, “I do believe that you’ll like her.”

“Why don’t I find out for myself?” Ginny said, twisting in her seat to search out Fleur. She spotted the blonde girl across the hall, and she seemed to be immersed in a conversation with one of her fellow Beauxbatons classmates.

“She’s busy, Gin, don’t bother her, I’ll introduce you some other time -” But then Fleur ended the conversation, and made eye contact with Ginny from across the hall. The redhead smiled politely and waved her over. “Ginny!”

“Oh come off it, ‘Mione. I just want to meet your little crush.”

Hermione spluttered indignantly. She was taken aback. She didn’t have a crush on Fleur! She was just excited to see her friend again, that’s all. Surely Ginny didn’t actually believe that she liked Fleur as more than a friend, right? Sure, Hermione had never had a boyfriend before, but did that mean that she actually preferred girls? Now that she was thinking about it though, no boy truly caught her attention. Hermione flushed red and shook those thoughts from her mind. She would get back to them later at a more appropriate time, not when her potential crush was approaching.

“Bonjour, ‘Ermione,” Fleur greeted, looking to be at least a little worried at how red Hermione’s face was. “Would you mind eentroducing me to your fraind?”

“Er, sure,” Hermione stammerd, “Fleur, this is Ginny Weasley. Ginny, Fleur Delacour.”

Ginny reached her hand out for a handshake, but Fleur merely grabbed it and tugged Ginny to her for the customary cheek kisses. The redhead’s face turned as red as her hair.

“Bonjour, Ginny. Eet ees nice to meet you,” Fleur dipped her head in greeting before engaging Ginny in polite conversation. “‘Ow old are you? And are you related to ze purple faced boy?”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

The Halloween feast, something that most students typically looked forward to, took much longer than usual. Perhaps it was the fact that it was the second feast in two days, and the extravagantly prepared food wasn’t as much of a treat as it normally was. Like everyone else in the Hall, judging by the constantly craning necks, the impatient expressions on every face, the fidgeting, and the standing up to see whether Dumbledore had finished eating yet, Hermione simply wanted the plates to clear, and to hear who had been selected as champions.

At long last, the plates returned to their normal spotless state; there was a sharp upswing in the level of noise within the hall, which died away almost instantly as Dumbledore got to his feet. On either side of him, Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime looked as tense and expectant as anyone.

“Well, the Goblet is almost ready to make its decision,” said Dumbledore. “I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions’ names are called, I would ask them to please come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber -” he indicated the door behind the staff table “- where they will be receiving their first instructions.”

He took out his wand and gave a great sweeping wave with it; at once, all the candles except those inside the usual floating carved pumpkins were extinguished, plunging them into a state of semidarkness. The Goblet of Fire now shone more brightly than anything in the Hall, the sparkling bright, blue-whiteness of the flames almost painful on the eyes. Everyone watched, waiting…A few people kept checking their watches…

The flames inside the Goblet suddenly turned a blood red and grew to be twice as high. Sparks began to violently shoot from the top. Then, a tongue of flame shot into the air, sending a charred piece of parchment into the air. The whole room gasped.

Dumbledore caught the piece of parchment and held it at arm’s length, so that he could read it by the light of the flames, which had calmed and were back to their blue-white shade.

“The champion of Durmstrang,” he read in a strong, clear voice, “will be Viktor Krum.”

A storm of applause and cheering swept the Hall. Hermione watched Krum rise from the Slytherin table and slouch up toward Dumbledore. He turned right, walked along the staff table, and disappeared through the door into the next chamber.

The clapping and chatting died down. Now, everyone’s attention was focused again on the Goblet, which, seconds later, turned red once more. A second piece of parchment shot out of it, propelled by the flames.

“The champion for Beauxbatons is Fleur Delacour!” Dumbledore announced.

Hermione felt a strange combination of dread and excitement at the fact that Fleur was champion. Clearly she was a brilliant witch, otherwise she wouldn’t have been chosen, but she was going to be put in danger, and Hermione didn’t much enjoy the thought of watching her friend be burned to a crisp or some other ridiculous consequence of participating in this blasted tournament. But she was excited to watch her compete. She immediately decided that she would cheer for her rather than Krum and the Hogwarts champion.

The entire Hall watched Fleur stand, shake back her blonde sheet of hair, and basically float up the aisle between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables. Madame Maxime met her at the staff table and they exchanged cheek kisses before Fleur disappeared in the same door that Krum went through.

When Fleur vanished into the side chamber, silence fell again, but this time it was a silence so stiff with excitement that you could almost taste it. The Hogwarts champion was next.

And the Goblet of Fire turned red once more; sparks showered out of it; the tongue of flame shot high into the air, and from its tip Dumbledore pulled the third piece of parchment.

“The Hogwarts champion is Cedric Diggory!”

Every single Hufflepuff jumped to his or her feet, screaming and stamping, as Cedric made his way past them, grinning broadly, and headed off toward the chamber behind the teachers’ table. Indeed, the applause for Cedric went on for so long that it was some time before Dumbledore could make himself heard again.

“Excellent!” Dumbledore called happily as at last the tumult died down. “Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real –”

But Dumbledore suddenly stopped speaking, and it became instantly apparent what it was that distracted him.

The flames within the Goblet of Fire turned an even angrier shade of red than it had for the other champions, and sparks violently shot out of it. A long flame shot suddenly into the air, and borne upon it was another piece of parchment.

Automatically it seemed, Dumbledore reached out a long hand and seized the parchment. He held it out and stared at the name written upon it. There was a long pause, during which Dumbledore stared at the slip in his hands, and everyone in the room stared at Dumbledore. And then Dumbledore cleared his throat.

_“Harry Potter.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't plan on changing a whole lot about the challenges that the champions will face. One person may score a bit higher and another may score a bit lower, but I don't intend on changing the turnout of the tournament. Harry will still win, and Fleur isn't going to come in second or anything, but Fleur and Hermione's relationship will be a large part of the story.


	4. The Library

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione is preoccupied with researching spells for Harry to use in the first task, but finds a welcome distraction in a certain blonde.

Hermione was nose deep in a thick, musty tome. All of the professors were assigning as much homework as possible to prepare the fourth years for their O.W.L. examinations next year. Hermione took this as a sign to begin preparing herself for her O.W.L.s , and in doing so, her untamable mane of hair was especially bushy from her frantic state of studying.

To add more stress to Hermione’s plate, Harry was the fourth champion of the Triwizard Tournament, and Ron hadn’t spoken a word to him since it was announced last week. Hermione believed it was preposterous that Ron thought Harry put his own name in the Goblet of Fire. Harry already had enough on his plate, let alone adding the fact that he lost his best friend due to petty jealousy.

With a huff, Hermione snapped the book closed, stood on her tiptoes to place it on top of her discarded pile, and grabbed another from an equally as tall stack of unread books. Against her better judgement, she was trying to find any sorts of spells that would help Harry in the first task. The only clue they were given was that the first challenge would “test their courage and daring.” It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. Given the 700 year history of the tournament, it was bound to consist of an incredibly dangerous magical creature. That meant that a combination of simple and complex spells would be needed. Simple hexes such as the stinging hex would be a good one to learn. Hermione made sure to jot that down on a spare scrap of parchment. She would look up the incantation later.

Hermione was so absorbed in her search for spells that she didn’t notice her necklace growing warm or the soft padding footsteps of someone approaching until a chair was dragged over to her table. A student in a powder blue uniform plopped down, their long blonde ponytail swishing back and forth with the motion.

“Bonjour, ‘Ermione,” Fleur greeted softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Hermione spared her only a glance over the top of the book and a low grunt in greeting before returning to the text. Fleur didn’t say another word. She simply cracked open her own book and was content to sit beside Hermione in silence. The only sound that passed between them was the occasional scratching of a quill on parchment and the rustling of a page being turned. Hermione wished that Harry and Ron would do the same when the three of them would do their homework together. So much more gets done when they stay silent and don’t flick rolled up bits of parchment at each other.

With a resigned sigh, Hermione closed her book and rubbed at her eyes. In the couple of hours that she had been in the library, she had only found four spells that Harry might find useful, and one of them required complete concentration – something he struggled with when he wasn’t searching for the snitch or on the hunt for an escaped chocolate frog.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Fleur glanced up from her book when Hermione sighed. Hermione’s brows were furrowed and her hair seemed to be even larger than it was when Fleur pulled up a chair. Her shoulders were held rigid and tight, that much was obvious. Perhaps it was time she had a bit of a breather to take her mind off of things.

“‘Ow ‘as your day been, ‘Ermione?” Fleur asked.

There was a visible sign of relief from Hermione. “As fine as it could be, I suppose,” Hermione answered. She rolled her shoulders back in their sockets before leaning her elbows on the table with a sigh. “Ron and Harry have been using me as an owl between them,” she said offhandedly.

“Are zey not talking?” asked Fleur, raising a pristine eyebrow.

Hermione shook her head. “Not since Harry was announced as a champion. Ron thinks he somehow put his name in and didn’t tell him how to do it.”

“I do not zink zat Harry should be allowed in ze tournament, he ees -”

“He’s perfectly capable of being an active participant in the tournament!” Hermione bristled.

“Zat ees not what I meant, pardon,” Fleur said calmly, hardly registering the fact that Hermione lost her cool. “I simply meant zat he ‘as been zrough more zan most wizards would ever experience and deserves a break. Zough he ees young and inexperienced, I ‘ave no doubt zat he will be a tough competitor.”

Hermione flushed bright red. “I’m sorry for snapping. There’s just so many people that don’t believe he should be able to compete.”

“Eet ees a binding magical contract, even eef he didn’t put ‘is name in ‘imself. He must compete.”

“But what if he doesn’t? What if he doesn’t show up to any of the tasks to participate?”

Fleur glanced around them for eavesdroppers before leaning in. Hermione leaned in close, so close that Fleur could feel her soft breaths against her cheek. She had to give her head a slight shake to refocus herself. “I ‘ave ‘eard terrible stories about zose zat did not heed a magical contract,” she said in a low voice. “My maman told me zat some die a slow, painful death as their organs slowly grind zemselves up, but my papa said zat ozzers burn from ze inside out. He ‘as also said zat ze lucky ones die instantly within a few minutes of breaking ze contract, and no one knows from what exactly. Zey just drop dead.”

Hermione visibly shivered and leaned back in her seat. “So there’s no way out of it. Harry has to compete.”

Fleur nodded solemnly. She watched Hermione run a quick hand through her hair, and then watched as she nervously plucked at the necklace that she had given her two summers ago. Fleur leaned forward and gingerly traced the pendant, feeling the metal grow warmer under her touch.

“You still wear eet,” she said softly, sounding as though she were in awe.

Hermione flushed and placed her hand over Fleur’s. She could feel its warmth. “Of course I do. It was a gift from a f-friend.”

Fleur smiled at Hermione’s hesitation on the word _friend_. Could she feel the pull?

“Eet belonged to my arrière grand-mère – my great grandmaman – and she passed eet on to ‘er daughter, my grand-mère, zen to my maman, and zen to me,” Fleur stated. “And zen to you, ma chérie.” Her eyes widened a bit, the pet name just slipped out without her meaning to say it. She hoped that Hermione didn’t know what it meant.

Hermione suddenly looked confused. “But…why does it grow warm? Is it enchanted?”

“Oui, eet ees enchanted,” Fleur answered, quickly recovering from the slip up. “Eet becomes warm when, uh -” Fleur darted her eyes around the library to buy herself another second or two. She had to come up with something fast – she had the feeling that Hermione wouldn’t be too fond of the real answer. “Eet warms when ze person zat gifted eet ees near.”

Hermione seemed intrigued. “So like a mini homing device,” she said. A sly grin suddenly formed on her face. “So I can find you whenever I want.”

Fleur laughed. “Yes, I suppose zat could be an eenteresting use.”

“Excuse me.” Fleur and Hermione turned at the sound of a soft voice. The owner, who was leaning casually around a shelf, was a small, blonde girl from Ravenclaw with radish earrings hanging from her ears and a cluster of butterbeer corks dangling around her neck. Hermione recognized her as the third year girl that Ginny would sometimes hang out with. “Could you be a bit quieter, perhaps? The wrackspurts are making you two a bit too loud, and I have an exam tomorrow to study for.”

“Pardon, mademoiselle,” Fleur apologized, not showing any confusion as to what a “wrackspurt” was. “But may I say zat I like your necklace?”

The girl held up the corks with a mysterious grin. “Thank you, they keep the nargles away.” And with that, she disappeared behind a shelf.

Suddenly, the bell rang for the classes to end and signaled that others needed to head for the next one. Hermione’s free period was over. Fleur watched her spring to her feet and grab a couple of books that she didn’t get the chance to read through.

“I have to go, my next class is Arithmancy and I really should get going,” Hermione said as she gathered up her belongings.

Fleur stood and helped Hermione gather her bits of parchment and quills. “Eet was nice talking wiz you.” She jammed in the stopper of Hermione’s inkwell and handed it over. “We should talk more often.”

Hermione smiled brightly. “I’d like that, Fleur. A bientôt.”

And then she was gone.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Fleur stepped up into the powder blue carriage, slamming the door shut behind her to keep the frigid November wind outside. She wished that the carriage wasn’t sitting so far away from the castle. The Beauxbatons students had to walk halfway across the grounds to get back to it. Clara, her best friend, immediately stepped up into her space, hands tightly clasped together in obvious excitement and her brown braid swinging to and fro.

“So?” Clara demanded. “Were you wiz ze ‘Ermione girl?”

Fleur smiled and nodded. She turned and headed down the hall to her left to her room. “We sat and read togezzer for a while.”

Clara snorted indignantly and sassily tossed her braid over her shoulder, hand on her hip as she followed Fleur down the hall. “When are you going to make your move? She ees not going to pursue you 'erself.”

“I am taking eet slow,” said Fleur. She stepped through a pristine white door that had her name stamped on it in gold lettering. “She does not know zat I am part Veela yet.”

“So she doesn’t even realize zat she’s your mate?” Clara questioned. “I mean, you did give ‘er ze necklace, right?”

“Only Veela can tell who zeir mate ees when zey see zem. My ‘Ermione ees not capable of zat. She must fall een love with me on ‘er own.” Fleur unclasped her cloak. “But she does wear my family necklace – she bears ze mark of a Veela mate. Eet warms whenever I am near.”

Clara grinned happily. “I am certain zat she will soon come to ‘er senses. She would be dumb not to – you are a gorgeous witch, ‘ow could she resist?”

Fleur laughed. “I can feel zat she ees coming around, Clara. I feel zat eet won’t be much longer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading the fourth chapter! I would also like to thank those that have commented so far, they're all lovely to read and I'm glad that each chapter is eagerly awaited. I currently have several chapters queued up for publishing, so all you readers should be receiving frequent updates over the next week or two!


	5. The First Task

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The First Task takes place and Hermione comes to terms with that feeling in her stomach.

“Oh come now, Harry. Just concentrate!”

Harry heaved a great sigh and flopped down onto the scarlet couch beside him. “I can’t do it, Hermione,” he groaned, pushing his glasses out of the way so he could rub at his eyes. Hermione scowled and crossed her arms. “If I can’t summon objects in the safety of the common room, how am I going to summon something when I’m face to face with a _dragon?_ Plus the First Task is tomorrow, there’s no way I’ll be able to master it today.”

“You don’t have to _master_ it, Harry.” Hermione said. “You just have to be able to get your broomstick from the castle to the arena before you get burned to a crisp.” Harry pulled a scarlet pillow over his face. Hermione rolled her eyes. “Get up, Harry. You should keep practicing.”

Harry groaned again, though he did slump to his feet and grab his wand. “What do you want me to attempt to summon now?”

Hermione held up a pillow. “Just this pillow.” She had a sly grin on her face.

Just as Harry said _“Accio pillow!”_ , Hermione whipped out her own wand from her sleeve and cried _“Lacarnum inflamarae!”_ A large ball of bright blue flames burst from Hermione’s wand and soared across the common room in Harry’s direction. Harry caught the pillow in one hand, and said _“Protego!”_ just before the ball of flames reached him. The blue fire hit his shield charm and curved around his body before dissipating.

Harry threw the pillow at a grinning Hermione. “What the heck was that for?”

“You summoned the pillow,” Hermione stated, a smug grin planted firmly on her face.

“Well, yeah, I suppose so. But you attacked me!”

“Oh quit being a baby, Harry. We both know you do better when you’re being attacked.” Harry crossed his arms. Hermione pointed at a book on the floor by her feet. “Summon it.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was well past eleven at night when Harry could finally summon objects without seeing them. He was surrounded by numerous random objects that Hermione had scrounged up from the depths of the couch or told him to summon from the dormitories. Such objects included several scarlet pillows, at least seven different Transfiguration books, Fred and George’s entire stash of Canary Creams, Ginny’s worn copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages_ , and the most recent letter from Sirius that had arrived, advising Harry to be careful against the dragon tomorrow and wishing him luck.

Hermione yawned widely. “I believe you’ve got it now, Harry,” she said. “Let’s go to bed now. You need all the rest you can get for tomorrow.”

“Right. Goodnight, Hermione,” Harry said. He grabbed Sirius’s letter and looked as though he was going to return all the things he summoned, but instead shrugged his shoulders and left them on the couch and headed up the stairs to his dorm.

Hermione called out a goodnight after him before heading for her own dorm. She didn’t even change out of her robes into pajamas; she merely pulled the curtains around her bed shut, collapsed on top of the duvet, and promptly fell asleep.

When she awoke in the morning, it was to the sound of the door snapping shut behind Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil as they headed down to breakfast. Hermione sat up in bed and was vaguely aware that her hair resembled a very large and very puffy cloud around her head. She tried to smooth it back down with her hand, but to no avail. Hermione tugged her curtains open, allowing the morning sun to stab her right in her tired eyes.

With a grunt, Hermione dragged herself out of bed and stumbled through her morning routine. She brushed her teeth, stared at the dark circles under her eyes for a solid three minutes and twenty-seven seconds, magically tamed her hair back, and changed into a different pair of robes. She skipped out on her usual shower. It may have been a Tuesday, but it was the morning of the First Task, and all classes had been cancelled. She could shower after breakfast if she so chose.

Hermione was hit with a sudden wave of anxiety and nerves as she descended the staircase and entered the Great Hall. Two of her close friends would be facing off against a dragon in just a few hours. Hermione had a feeling that one of them would end up on fire.

“‘Ermione!” called Fleur from just outside the Great Hall. Hermione turned just in time to witness Fleur come flying through the huge doors and to get swept up into a very enthusiastic hug. “Bonjour, ma chérie!”

Hermione didn’t notice the way that she sank into Fleur’s embrace until Fleur removed her arms and Hermione nearly fell over. She ducked her head to hide the flush that raced up her neck. “Bonjour, Fleur. Ça va?”

Fleur smiled brightly, showing off her perfect white teeth. “Ça va, merci, ‘Ermione. ‘Ave I told you zat I enjoy leestening to you speak French?”

Hermione’s face flushed red. “No, you haven’t.” She tucked her hair behind her ears. “Are you ready for the first task?”

“Oui, I do believe so.” Fleur leaned in close and lowered her voice. “Deed you know zat we will be facing dragons?” Hermione nodded. “Génial. I trust zat young ‘Arry ees prepared?” Another nod. Fleur easily slung an arm about Hermione’s shoulders and began walking to her usual spot at the Gryffindor table. Hermione’s stomach felt like her large and small intestine were dancing with each other. In other words, she had a very funny, fluttery feeling that she couldn’t quite figure out and she made a mental note to read up on it later. “‘Arry ees lucky to ‘ave you as a fraind.”

Harry and Ginny were already at breakfast, with Ginny sitting across from him. Ron was nowhere in sight. Ginny shot Hermione a smug smirk before turning and snatching a sausage from Harry’s plate. Fleur used the arm around Hermione to pull the brunette flush against her side and planted a kiss on her temple with a smile.

“Zis ees where you normally sit, non?” Fleur asked, her smile contagiously bright. She looked away from Hermione to acknowledge the others. “Bonjour Ginny and ‘Arry. And good luck to you, ‘Arry. I am certain zat you will do well today.”

Fleur dropped a kiss to Hermione’s red cheek – just one cheek – and squeezed her one last time before nodding to the others and taking off for the Ravenclaw table. Hermione watched Fleur take a seat beside another girl with long braided hair, who then shot a friendly look in Hermione’s direction before rapidly spouting something off to Fleur in French.

“What was that about?” Harry wondered aloud.

Hermione took a seat beside Ginny and took her time in filling her plate before she responded. “Sometimes Fleur just so happens to be a bit…touchy,” she said. Her cheeks colored. “Really touchy,” she added.

“It means Fleur likes _yooouuu_ ,” Ginny cooed, clasping her hands in front of her chest and batting her eyelashes.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Come off it, Gin. We’re just friends.”

“Oh yeah?” Ginny challenged. “Fleur doesn’t flirt with me, and we’ve hung out for a total of like, three hours. On multiple occasions.”

“Fleur and I have known each other for longer than a month,” was Hermione’s dignified response. She cut her sausages into even pieces.

“You knew her for a week before you went without seeing each other for a year and a half, so I wouldn’t necessarily say that you have an advantage there.” Ginny pointed out. “But I haven’t seen Fleur hang onto anyone else like she did to you.”

Hermione’s stomach twisted at the thought of Fleur hugging and kissing anyone else. She gave her head a quick shake. “We’re just good friends, Gin.”

Ginny held up her hands in defeat and returned her attention to her plate. “Alright, ‘Mione, whatever you say.”

_We’re just good friends._

Those words sounded hollow even to Hermione.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

The arena that had been set up was enormous. Granted, that was to be expected as it had to seat all of Hogwarts as well as the guests _and_ four mother dragons and their many handlers. On one end of the arena was a clutch of eggs perched atop a stone hill. There were seven eggs – six of which were the typical, shiny, spotted and off-white colored eggs, but the seventh was a bright, glimmering gold. The golden egg was the champions’ goal.

Beside the stone hill was the gate in which the dragons would come from and the thick steel pole that the dragons would be chained to was at the bottom of the hill. On the opposite side of the arena was the entrance in which the champions would come through. Between the two points was a multitude of large boulders of varying sizes and in the very center was a bit of a valley with a stream running through it. The stream branched off in numerous directions through the arena and thus provided low and high points for both the dragons and the champions to hide in throughout the entire arena. All in all, it would be a very treacherous environment for the champions and not so much the dragons. A sprained ankle would be all that it took to cause someone to turn into a giant fireball.

Hermione had squished herself into a seat between Ginny and a sulking Ron. Ginny was leaned forward in her seat and was nearly shaking with excitement, but Hermione felt heavy with dread.

“It just had to be bleeding dragons,” Hermione muttered, wringing her hands together nervously. “Why couldn’t it be bloody unicorns?”

Ginny turned in her seat. “A unicorn would just stab them with its horn or something.”

“Dragons breathe fire and have foot long fangs.”

“I’m sure there’s a variation of a unicorn somewhere out there that shoots fire out of its nostrils and has abnormally long teeth.”

Hermione huffed and crossed her arms, though she did agree that the light banter had eased her nerves a bit. Besides, obviously everyone involved were greats wizards and witches – otherwise the Goblet wouldn’t have picked them for the tournament.

Suddenly, a whistle blew from somewhere above the arena. A blue-ish grey dragon was led through the gate and chained to the steel pole jammed into the rock. The Swedish Short-Snout gingerly sniffed at the eggs perched atop the hill, paying no attention to the handlers or the crowd. It abruptly turned its head upward to the sky and let out an earthshattering roar. Hermione clamped her hands over her ears. Who was unlucky enough to have drawn that dragon?

Cedric Diggory appeared at the other end of the arena. The dragon whipped its head in his direction and roared in warning. Cedric took another step into the arena, but had to dive behind a boulder when the dragon shot off a blast of fire clear across the arena. He drew his wand and fired a bright blue spell at the dragon, but it bounced harmlessly off its hide and dissipated into the air with a sharp sizzle. Another fireball was shot in his direction.

Hermione covered her eyes for the remainder of Cedric’s bout with the Swedish Short-Snout. She could’ve sworn that she heard a bark from a dog before the crowd roared in delight, signaling that Cedric had retrieved the egg.

The Swedish Short-Snout was whisked out of the arena and out came a green dragon with brown spikes down its spine. The Welsh Green was a bit smaller than the Short-Snout, but looked equally as dangerous. Out of the champions’ gate came Fleur. She had a confidence in her step that gave her a bit of a dangerous aura. Ron turned his usual shade of purple at the sight of her.

Fleur was dressed in powder blue robes, though these robes resembled a Quidditch uniform more than they did a Beauxbatons uniform. Hermione figured it was much more practical anyway – Fleur’s school uniform consisted of a skirt and blouse, after all. Though Hermione preferred Fleur in this apparel when compared to the school uniform – the slightly baggy, powder blue pants with the matching Beauxbatons shirt and robe over it all. Fingerless, leather gloves adorned her hands and running shoes covered her feet - all typical dragon fighting gear.

Ginny leaned over and wiped at the corners of Hermione’s mouth with a grin. “Careful there, ‘Mione. You might start drooling.”

Hermione swatted at Ginny’s hand before returning her attention to the arena. Fleur was now crouched behind a boulder, wand clutched loosely in one glove-clad hand. She peered around the edge of the boulder. The Welsh Green had turned its back on Fleur and had preoccupied itself with inspecting the eggs.

Fleur took the opportunity to creep forward and she dropped down into the valley. She disappeared from Hermione’s sight, though the dragon must have heard something because it suddenly whipped around with a roar and spit a shower of fire into the air above the valley. Fleur popped up and fired off a quick spell. The white bolt struck the dragon between the eyes. The dragon reared back and hissed. It sprang forward, more fire spilling from its wide jaws. Fleur ducked and ran into the valley, easily leaping over a boulder and disappearing once more with a swish of her robes.

The athleticism that Fleur was showcasing made Hermione feel light and warm. She bit her lip to hide a grin, but she easily swatted away Ginny’s hand before the redhead could wipe at her mouth again. She was allowed to fawn over her friend if she so chose.

The Welsh Green stalked along the edge of the valley, long claws sinking deep into the wet mud. It shot a blast of fire into the valley, though Hermione couldn’t see Fleur to know if she dodged or not. However, the blonde raced up the opposite edge of the valley. She jumped atop a boulder about fifty feet from the dragon and shot off a series of spells. Green, violet, blue, shimmery silver, red, gold, and pink fired from the end of her wand. Each spell struck the dragon at some point. The onslaught angered the Welsh and it shot the largest blast of fire yet. Hermione could see Fleur’s eyes widen as she was engulfed in the fire.

Hermione gasped sharply and made to stand up, but was halted by Ginny tugging on her elbow. “‘Mione, _look_!”

Sure enough, the spot where Fleur was engulfed in flame was singed, with no blonde witch in sight. Instead, two more identical Fleurs ran up from different points of the valley and engaged the dragon while a third, mud covered and singed Fleur sprinted for the eggs. She snatched up the golden egg and triumphantly held it above her head, goofy grin adorning her features.

Ginny stood, hooted and cheered for Fleur along with the crowd. Hermione joined her and matched the redhead’s enthusiasm.

“Did you _see_ that?” Hermione gushed, eyes wide and admiring. “Absolutely _brilliant_ spellwork!”

Hermione didn’t even pay much attention to Krum and the Chinese Fireball. She replayed Fleur’s performance over and over until it was finally time for Harry to face the Hungarian Horntail, which was the most dangerous dragon of them all. The Horntail proved to be exceptionally dangerous, especially once it broke free of its chains and gave chase to Harry on his summoned Firebolt.

Boy and beast were gone for over ten minutes before Harry finally zoomed back to the arena, Horntail hot on his tail. Harry flew up, up, up above everyone’s heads before plummeting back down to earth, dragon following him everywhere (“Wronski Feint, that’s the Wronski Feint!” Hermione vaguely remembered Ron babbling something about a feint at this moment though she wasn’t exactly certain, considering the fact that she was preoccupied with nervously chewing her nails). Harry pulled out of the dive at the last second, snatching the golden egg just as the dragon handlers burst through the gate and wrangled up the Hungarian Horntail.

Hermione only stayed long enough to catch the standings: Cedric scored 37 out of 50, Fleur a 40, Krum received a 39, and Harry was given a 40. Ginny and Hermione hugged at the prospect of Harry and Fleur being at the top.

“You should go on down to the medical tent, I’m sure that’s where they all are now,” Ginny suggested. “And take Ron with you, he needs to make up with Harry while you ogle Fleur. I’m gonna go and collect my winnings from Fred.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at Ginny’s jest, but grabbed Ron by the arm nonetheless. Together, they fought through the swarm of students and made their way to the medical tent. Inside the tent, there were four sections, each equipped with a cot and variety of potions and salves – one section for each champion. Hermione steered Ron toward Harry to make sure that the two actually made up.

“Harry,” Ron started, face pale like he had seen a ghost, “whoever put your name in that Goblet must be rolling in their grave. Bloody hell, mate, you put on a bloody good show.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at the apology but it seemed to work for Harry, so it would work for her. The brunette left the two alone and wandered over to Fleur.

Fleur was leaning against the cot rather than sitting on it, pants slung low across her hips and shirt riding up just enough for Hermione to catch a glimpse of smooth skin. Fleur beamed at a pink faced Hermione. Her right arm was wrapped up in fresh, white bandages and she had dried mud smeared across her face and robes. Hermione stepped forward and socked Fleur in her good arm.

The blonde merely flinched and sheepishly grinned. “Don’t you _ever_ scare me like that again, Fleur Isabelle Delacour,” Hermione demanded, crossing her arms across her chest.

“I won’t make zat promise until after ze tournament, ma chérie,” Fleur said. She reached out for Hermione with a small smile painting her features. “But ‘ow about a hug for a job well done?”

Hermione pretended to huff as she stepped into Fleur’s arms. The embrace was soft, but spoke a thousand words to Hermione as she rested her head against Fleur’s shoulder. She felt as though she belonged in Fleur’s arms, comfortably tucked against her side. The necklace about Hermione’s neck burned hot against her skin due to their close proximity, though it did not harm her. Instead, it was more of a comforting presence. It was a reminder that she was really here, pressed against Fleur.

“And just _what_ do you think you’re doing in my tent, Miss Granger?” barked Madame Pomfrey, suddenly appearing from behind the screen that separated Fleur and Cedric. Hermione jumped out of their hug, immediately feeling her heart sink despite the fact that Fleur kept a hand on the brunette’s waist. “I’ve already had to shoo out Mr. Weasley, I don’t have to show you the exit as well, do I?”

“No, Madame Pomfrey,” Hermione said, “I’ll leave right now.”

Madame Pomfrey nodded curtly before moving on to Krum.

Hermione turned back to face Fleur with a frown. “Ma chérie, you really must be going or you'll get een trouble again,” Fleur said with a bit of a pout.

“I know…” Hermione pouted a bit as well, though she would deny it if anyone asked.

Fleur used the hand still on Hermione’s waist to tug her close. She planted a lingering kiss on Hermione’s cheek. “Salut, ‘Ermione. A bientôt.” Hermione mustered up the courage to return the favor by placing a chaste kiss on Fleur’s cheek. Fleur’s face split into a toothy grin, which made Hermione’s stomach flutter once again.

_“Miss Granger!”_

As Madame Pomfrey chased her out of the tent, Hermione couldn’t help but think that maybe Ginny was right. Maybe she liked Fleur as more than a friend. And the scary part was...

She had no problem with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so very sorry for the long delay in posting this chapter! I didn't like the way I had originally written it, so I tried to revise but then got writer's block. I ended up completely scrapping the chapter, but I whipped this one out over Easter break. I thank you all for the lovely comments and for your patience! I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Once again, feel free to nag me about posting the next chapter, it gets me moving!


	6. Talk of a Ball and Mates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Golden Trio spend quality time together while Fleur gets to know Ginny better.

Trying to solve the clue within the golden egg was nigh impossible. The incessant wailing and shrieking that came from within it caused a headache nearly instantaneously and Hermione was to her wits end with it. Ron was no help at all. He always chose to sit off to the side and would sandwich his head between two of the fluffiest pillows he could find. Within a week, Harry too developed this habit, leaving the decoding and headaches to Hermione.

“Why can’t we do this _inside_ the castle?” Ron complained.

The trio was currently sitting along the shores of the lake, noses and fingers numb from the winter air. Hermione had conjured up a ball of blue flames inside a glass jar and they took turns warming their hands as they all stared glumly at the golden egg between them.

“Where else would we do it?” Harry asked. He pushed his glasses back up his nose and tugged his hat down further over his ears.

“The common room?” Ron suggested meekly.

“Are you off your rocker?” Hermione demanded. “Fred and George would slip us something untasteful if we opened this thing in the common room again.”

“The…library?”

“And now you’ve actually gone flying off your rocker.” Hermione dropped her head into her hands.

“What?” Ron appeared to be genuinely taken aback from her reaction.

“Mate,” began Harry, “Madame Pince would have our heads if we so much as brought the egg into the library.”

“Well I still don’t see why we have to do it out here in the _cold_.”

Hermione tuned out the two boys as they continued to talk. She picked up the egg and looked at it from each angle to determine if there was some sort of etching on it that would provide her with a clue. The entire surface was smooth. Even the parts of the egg that slid open when the top was unclasped fit seamlessly back into the metal and couldn’t be felt when a hand was slid across the surface. Hermione tuned back in to the conversation that Ron and Harry were having.

“Did you see the flyer on the board in the common room today?” Harry asked.

“No,” Ron said as he aimlessly twirled his wand through the air. “What’d it say?”

“Gryffindor fourth years and up are to meet with McGonagall next week in one of the unused classrooms in the Transfiguration wing.”

Hermione’s brows rose, nearly into her hairline. “You know what this means, right?” she asked as she recalled a certain bit of information that she stumbled upon as she read up on the tournament’s history. Ron and Harry stared at each other for a second before they turned and shrugged. “It means that there’s to be a Yule Ball.”

The two boys looked as clueless as ever. “Yeah,” Ron drawled out, “what does that have to do with anything?”

“Throughout the history of the Triwizard Tournament, there has always been a Yule Ball on Christmas Day. And as is custom, the champions and their dates begin the Ball with the Champions Waltz.”

Ron threw his head back and guffawed. He elbowed Harry through the laughter. “You have to dance in front of everyone!”

Harry’s cheeks turned red. He punched Ron in the arm before shoving him over, nearly knocking over the jar with the flames in the process. “Well I bet that you can’t even get a date for yourself without any help,” Harry jested, giving Ron another shove as his redheaded friend sat back up, still laughing.

“At least I don’t have to learn to waltz,” Ron threw back, finally sitting back up.

“I wouldn’t quite say that, Ronald,” Hermione interjected. “The other guests typically join in halfway through the dance.” Now it was Harry’s turn to laugh and then get shoved over. Hermione rolled her eyes. “Oh, honestly. I bet neither of you will even learn the waltz until Christmas Eve.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

The library, save for all the dust and the smell of rotting parchment, was actually quite a nice place to relax. The school library at Beauxbatons was certainly cleaner and had a lot more windows for natural light, but there was some sort of charm about the Hogwarts library that drew Fleur to it. She was sure it wasn’t the dust though. That bit was just a little overpowering.

Fleur was strolling leisurely down the Muggle Studies section, a single lithe finger gingerly tracing the spine of every tome she passed. She wasn’t searching for anything in particular, just waiting to see if any titles caught her eye. _The Television: A Critical Study_ ;  _Toasters, Cellphones, VHS Players and Other Muggle Contraptions_ ; and _The Driving Force of RC Vehicles_ were some of the many titles that Fleur encountered – all of which were written by pureblooded wizards, if Fleur recalled correctly. She pulled the book about RC vehicles – whatever those were – from the shelf and flipped through the first couple of pages, two pages of which were all about the different shapes of batteries that could go into an RC vehicle.

“Definitely a pureblooded author,” Fleur murmured to herself. She slid the book back into its place. “Why wouldn’t zey ‘ave an ‘alf-blood or muggle-born write zese books?”

“I wonder the same thing sometimes.”

Fleur turned to see Ginny Weasley leaning against a shelf at the end of the aisle, several thick books tucked under one arm.

“Bonsoir, Ginny,” Fleur said, dipping her head in greeting – she didn’t think that any members of the Weasley clan were particularly fond of the customary cheek kisses.

“Hey, Fleur,” Ginny dipped her head in return. “You lookin’ for anything in particular? I could help you find it. After all, Hermione has dragged me to every corner of this blasted library.”

“Non,” the corner of her lips lifted slightly at the mention of Hermione, “I’m just – ‘ow do you say – browsing.”

Ginny nodded in acknowledgement. “So,” Fleur could see a shift in Ginny’s eyes, “what gave you the idea to duplicate yourself when you faced the dragon?” She suddenly smirked and winked. “Gave Hermione quite the scare too.”

Fleur smiled, choosing to ignore the slight heat that rose into her cheeks. “Well, I knew zat dragons ‘ave a very tough ‘ide zat protects zem from spells, so I figured zat I had to alter ze environment in some way.” Fleur shrugged. “I learned a duplication charm een fourth year. Eet was just a spur of ze moment zought to use eet on myself.”

“Were you scared?”

“Imagine a ‘umongous winged lizard covered een spikes and ‘as ze ability to spit fire,” Fleur said. Ginny’s eyes widened and she averted her eyes. “Now take ze fear zat you feel from zinking about zat, and multiply eet by a zousand.”

“Sorry,” Ginny said sheepishly. She refused to meet Fleur’s eyes.

“Non, do not apologize.” Fleur simply waved a hand to brush it off. She was certain that she would never have to worry about facing another dragon in the near future. “I just advise you to steer clear of any ‘uge fire breathing lizards.”

“One of my brothers works with dragons in Romania,” Ginny said with a laugh. “He was one of the handlers for the first task. I’m sure I’ll see more dragons in my lifetime.”

Fleur walked out of the aisle and took a seat at one of the many tables in the library, Ginny turning and following her example, setting her stack of books down in front of her.

“So ‘ow many siblings do you have?” Fleur asked. If Hermione accepted that they were mates, then she would have to get to know her friends. So why not start now?

Ginny sighed and ran a hand through her fiery locks. “Six. All brothers, and each one equally as hardheaded and stubborn as the next.”

Fleur couldn’t say that she wasn’t surprised. She only had Gabrielle. She couldn’t imagine having five more siblings. “What are their names?”

“Bill is the eldest, then there’s Charlie – he works with the dragons – and then Percy. Next is Fred and George – they’re twins, you’ve probably seen them scurrying about the halls – and then Ron, and you already know him.”

“Oui, the purple boy,” Fleur said with a smile, earning a laugh from Ginny.

“That’s certainly one way to describe him.” Ginny grinned once more before her expression shifted to one of curiosity. “But I don’t know why he turns purple around you. I mean, he’s always been an idiot around girls, but he’s never acted the same way that he does around you.”

Fleur gulped and her eyes widened. The other girl was smart, Fleur knew that much. It was probably only a matter of time before she found out that Fleur was part Veela and told Hermione. She swallowed heavily. She wanted to be the one to tell Hermione herself, but to do so, she might have to tell Ginny first to keep her silent.

Ginny noticed the sudden shift in Fleur’s behavior. She titled her head a bit to one side, a single eyebrow rising in confusion. “Something wrong?”

“I may know what ees causing Ron to behave so strangely around me,” Fleur said slowly, testing Ginny’s reaction. Confusion flashed through Ginny’s brown eyes.

“What, like a spell or something?” Ginny asked.

“Non, not exactly.” Fleur sighed. “Eet ees out of my control.”

“You’re part Veela, aren’t you, Fleur?” Ginny laughed as Fleur’s jaw dropped open in surprise. Fleur spluttered indignantly, trying to formulate a rebuttal but failing. “It’s okay, Fleur. My mum’s best friend is part Veela. She had the same effect on Bill, Charlie, and Percy. The others were too young to really be affected the last time that she visited.”

“You don’t mind zat I didn’t tell you before?” Fleur asked nervously, dipping her head and averting her eyes in the process.

Ginny reached across the table and gently touched one of Fleur’s hands to get her attention. “There was no reason for you to tell me,” she said softly. Fleur took a deep breath and slowly let it back out. “Does Hermione know you two are mates yet?” She felt Fleur tense under her hand. “I’ll take that as a _no_.”

“Please, do not tell ‘Ermione any of zis,” Fleur pleaded. “She ‘as to fall een love with me on ‘er own, ozzerwise eet won’t work.”

“Well surely she can know that you’re a Veela!”

“Oui, she may know zat much, but nozzing more. Eef she finds out zat we are mates…”

Fleur left her sentence unfinished, though Ginny got the message clearly enough. She could not express just how important it was that Hermione developed her feelings naturally. If she found out that they were mates before the feelings fully developed, then the entire partnership would crash and burn – and Fleur would be left with no mate. Veela are very loving and familial creatures, and a Veela with no mate is just on the verge of being considered an empty husk. Fleur may be just a quarter of a Veela, but she would still be affected, just to a smaller extent. She’d be able to form relationships with others, but none would be as strong as the relationship with her mate would have been.

“Don’t worry, Fleur,” Ginny said, trying to convey as much emotion into that one sentence as possible in the hopes of calming Fleur. “Hermione will fall in love with you without ever knowing.”

“Zank you…” Fleur turned her head away from Ginny to hide the grateful tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.

“But I do have one recommendation for you,” Ginny stated with a small grin.

“What?”

“Ask Hermione out soon. Her answer may surprise you.” Ginny winked before she stood from her seat and scooped up her books. “See you later, Fleur. Your secret is safe with me.”

Ginny Weasley then disappeared around a bookshelf, the end of her robe swishing at her heels.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

The rest of the week dragged on in a slew of Potions, DADA, and Charms homework. Hermione, of course, had finished most of her homework before the week was done, though the same couldn’t be said for Harry and Ron. Hermione had finished the rest of it before Friday night, allowing her to spend the weekend rereading _Hogwarts: A History_ while the boys scrambled to begin and then complete their own homework. Before anyone knew it, it was time to meet McGonagall and learn the Champions Waltz.

The entirety of Gryffindor House, minus third years and below, lined the walls of a very large, empty classroom. Professor McGonagall stood near the door, greeting everyone that came through, though Ron surmised that she was making sure that everyone showed up. He was adamant that her bun was even tighter and her pointed hat even straighter than usual.

In the center of the room was a giant, ancient looking gramophone with a long twisting horn that loomed over everyone, even Fred and George, who were two of the tallest Gryffindors. Filch stood slouched over beside the gramophone, Mrs. Norris tucked tightly in his arms and his yellow eyes scrutinizing every student that passed near him.

Ron leaned over to Harry with a grin. “You think Filch is gonna be teaching us to waltz?”

Harry hid a snort behind his hand as Hermione rolled her eyes. “I bet Mrs. Norris would be his partner.”

At that, Ron gave a shout of a laugh, drawing the gaze of every person in the room, including both Mrs. Norris and Filch. The former bared his yellowed, crooked teeth while the cat hissed menacingly.

“If Mr. Weasley is finished harassing Argus, we will now begin.” McGonagall said sharply, glowering over the top of her glasses in Ron’s direction. Everyone snickered as Ron’s ears turned bright red. “Now, as I am sure most of you already know, the Yule Ball is a tradition that accompanies the Triwizard Tournament.” There was a chorus of giggles from some of the girls behind Hermione. “The champions will begin the Ball with the Champions Waltz –” Ron nudged Harry with his elbow. “– but the guests customarily join in halfway through the dance with their partners.” Harry nudged Ron. McGonagall’s eyes scanned the faces of all those assembled until she settled on one person in particular. “Mr. Weasley, would you be so kind as to join me in the center?”

Ron whipped around to see Fred and George behind him. The both of them shot him a wink that was closely followed by a smirk. They both pulled their wand from their robes and tapped the top of their head, causing their figures to fade from view and leaving Ron as the only Weasley she could be requesting. Harry gave Ron a shove forward and he stumbled into the center of the room, his ears flushing once more. He warily approached the professor.

“Put your hand on my waist,” McGonagall instructed.

Ron balked and this time his face turned red. “W-where?”

“My _waist_ , Mr. Weasley,” McGonagall said sternly. Professor McGonagall grabbed Ron’s left hand in her right, and placed her other hand on his shoulder as Ron gingerly put his hand on her waist. Hermione could have sworn that McGonagall had an amused smile on her face but then it was gone within a second. “I expect everyone to pay very close attention, because I will not have you all besmirching Hogwarts’ reputation by acting like a bambling, bumbling band of baboons." She paused and glared at everyone for extra emphasis. "Argus, music please.” Filch cranked up the gramophone. “And now, we dance.”

Despite Ron being in the typical leading role, McGonagall quite clearly led the two through the waltz, counting loud enough for the entire room to hear over the music. The gramophone was old, that much was obvious, but it still played the music loud and clear. Professor McGonagall and Ron twirled and flounced along with the dips and crescendos in the music, robes flaring and snapping at the ankles.

Fred and George rematerialized beside Harry, their disillusionment charm wearing off. Harry leaned over to them and said, “Don’t let him forget about this.”

“Never,” the two replied simultaneously.

To the disappointment of everyone, the song ended shortly and thus ended the entertainment of watching McGonagall dance with a bumbling Ron.

“I hope you all paid close attention, because it’s now your turn!” McGonagall announced. Her statement was closely followed by a chorus of groans.

In no time, she had everyone paired up and Filch had started the music again. Hermione had gotten paired with Neville, Ron with Parvati Patil, and Harry to Lavender Brown. Despite being incredibly clumsy in the beginning, Hermione only had her toes stepped on three times. Neville was really quite a good dancer when he was given a little instruction. He could lead Hermione through the steps rather well until it got to the point in the song where he had to lift her and spin. It seemed that most of the pairings had difficulty with that part as well. Most of the people that even attempted the lift were wobbly and unbalanced, and Ron even dropped Parvati, much to McGonagall’s chagrin.

For the next hour, McGonagall tried her hardest to teach the waltz, though some were absolutely worthless. Hermione and Neville were rather successful when compared to Ron and Harry – Neville had actually executed the lift perfectly. Twice. Ron had dropped Parvati every time they attempted the lift, and he had even tripped over his own feet at one point, sending the both of them toppling to the stone floor. Harry simply never tried the lift. 

McGonagall rubbed at her temples, her eyes squeezed shut. “That’s all for today. We’ll meet again next week.”

With that being said, everyone streamed from the classroom, Ron leading the pack. Harry and Hermione followed after him at a slower pace.

“I still can’t believe that McGonagall made Ron dance with her,” Harry laughed. “That’s sure to fuel a couple patronuses.”

Hermione smacked his arm. “You can’t be making fun of him. You weren’t doing any better than him at any rate.”

“I didn’t drop Lavender though,” Harry argued petulantly, a slight pout forming on his lips.

“You didn’t even attempt the lift,” Hermione pointed out. She smiled as he crossed his arms across his skinny chest.

“I don’t know how I’m going to dance in front of everyone,” Harry confessed.

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione murmured. “You’ve killed a basilisk, drove off a hundred dementors, and faced a Hungarian Horntail, but you can’t dance in front of the entire school?”

“This is completely different,” Harry argued, though he did crack a bit of smile. “I have to separate a girl from her pack of friends and ask her to a ball.” He turned to look at Hermione, a smile dancing across his lips. “Why do girls travel in packs anyway? How do you get one away from the rest?”

“Lasso one,” Hermione suggested.

Harry threw his head back and laughed. “Lasso one? That’s sure to be interesting.”

“You’ll be fine, Harry. They’re just girls.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me! Updates are going to be slow from here on out. I graduate from high school in two weeks, and then I'll be working all summer to save up for college, which I'm sure will leave me busy as well. I'll try to update as often as I can, but as of right now, I can't promise anything. But I won't abandon this fic, even if it takes me ten years to complete. Let's just hope it doesn't get to that.
> 
> However! Thank you so much for reading and feel free to request something specific that you want to see! As of right now, I'm thinking of adding in a line of romance for Ginny. Is that something that you'd like to see, or should I just stick with developing the relationship between Fleur and Hermione? Ginny's romance wouldn't come in until around her fourth year, but still, what do you think?


	7. Getting a Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fleur finally introduces Clara to Hermione and Ginny, while Hermione gets fed up with Ron and does something about it.

The Yule Ball was the talk of the school. Hermione had never known of so many people putting their names down to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas. Harry always did, considering his other option was going back to Privet Drive with those awful Dursleys, but this was Hermione’s first time staying at school for the holiday. This year, everyone in the fourth year and above seemed to be staying, and they all appeared to be infatuated with the upcoming Yule Ball – or at least all the girls were. It was startling how many girls that Hogwarts suddenly held, Hermione had never noticed it before. Girls giggling and whispering in the corridors, girls shrieking with laughter as boys passed them, girls excitedly comparing notes on what they were going to wear Christmas night… It all gave Hermione a headache.

And then there was Fleur.

The blonde beauty seemingly floated through the halls between her classes, somehow always managing to send a crooked smile Hermione’s way as they passed each other. It made Hermione want to swoon, but she knew that Ginny would tease her mercilessly. Fleur was often seen walking alongside her brunette friend with the braid – Hermione had yet to learn her name – with a gaggle of boys and girls with glazed over eyes and gaping mouths staring after them. A twisting feeling deep in Hermione’s gut often accompanied her seeing the aftereffects of Fleur’s passing. Fleur was not a piece of meat to be drooled over, after all.

Hermione knew that Fleur was beautiful, gorgeous even, but she just couldn’t comprehend why so many people appeared to be under some sort of spell whenever she passed them. She remembered the effect that the Veela at the Quidditch World Cup had on the boys – Harry would have leapt out of press box if Ginny hadn’t grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and yanked him back into his seat. But Fleur didn’t look like a mix between a bird and a woman like those at the World Cup, nor did she have scaly wings protruding from her shoulders, though she did have the same effect on people here at Hogwarts, just without the leaping from great heights part.

“Hermione!” Hermione jumped, her mind refocusing to the here and now. Ginny was waving a hand in front of her face. “You alright?” Ginny’s question normally would’ve been perceived as concerned, but the look on her face suggested otherwise.

“Yes, of course, I’m fine,” Hermione said, warily eyeing her friend’s teasing smirk.

“Just making sure,” Ginny held her hands up in mock surrender. “You seemed awfully concentrated on watching Fleur’s backside.”

Hermione gasped much like a scandalized grandmother. “Ginevra Molly Weasley!” Ginny winced at the sound of her entire name. “I was doing no such thing!”

“Right, okay.” Ginny rolled her eyes and continued on down the corridor. “Just remember to wipe the drool off your chin.”

Hermione doubted that she had drooled while watching Fleur walk away, but she dabbed the end of her sleeve against her mouth anyway. Just in case. She then broke into a light jog to catch up with the younger witch. The two walked in silence for a bit, the only sound being the buzzing of the conversations between the other students around them.

“Y’know, no one’s going to care,” Ginny said suddenly.

Hermione adjusted the strap of her bag as her brow furrowed. “What do you mean? About what?”

“About you dating Fleur.” Hermione’s cheeks turned red. “Listen, ‘Mione. I know that most muggles don’t easily accept anyone that deviates from the ‘norm’ with open arms, but I can tell you that no one here will bother you about it.”

Hermione beamed and engulfed Ginny in a hug. “Thanks, Ginny. That means a lot, especially coming from you.”

“I know that you weren’t really worried about it a whole lot anyway,” Ginny rambled, “but I thought that maybe you would like to hear it. But if anyone tries to give you trouble – especially Malfoy, the bloody git – they’ll have to answer to my bat-bogey hex.”

Hermione laughed. She wouldn’t mind a couple untoward comments from Malfoy if it meant that Ginny would hex him. She reckoned that it wasn’t the greatest experience to have your own bogeys attack you.

“Thanks, Ginny.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Breakfast the next day was a boring ordeal. Hermione ate her usual French toast and scrambled eggs, Ron finished off half of the sausages, and Harry took five minutes to eat a single slice of toast. The two boys, along with eating breakfast, had to focus on their unfinished Transfiguration homework. Ron had managed to drop both a sausage and a slice of bacon onto his parchment, which left large grease spots that smeared the ink. He didn’t even think to use a spell to clean it up – he simply shrugged and continued writing. Ginny suddenly plopped down on the bench on Hermione’s left side, nearly upending Ron’s glass of pumpkin juice onto his report.

“Oi! Watch it, you twit!” Ron exclaimed, yanking his parchment off of the table and holding it above his head, nearly elbowing Harry in the nose in the process.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Well that’s certainly one way to greet your sister.” Ginny speared one of Ron’s sausages and took a bite of it.

Ron huffed and placed his report back on the table. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have your own friends to sit with?”

“Hermione is one of my friends. Besides, I came here to ask if any of you had managed to acquire a date to the ball yet.”

“I haven’t even bothered to ask a single girl yet,” Ron said, “but Harry got turned down by Cho Chang.”

“She already agreed to go with Cedric before I even asked her,” Harry defended himself.

“Finding the perfect one is hard, mate,” Ron commented.

Hermione frowned. “Girls are not just an object for you to scrutinize, Ronald. Besides, it’s not as if you’re likely going to start dating whoever you go to the ball with, so just find a random girl and ask her.”

“Why is it such a big deal to you? It’s not like you have to worry about asking anyone since you’re a girl and all,” said Ron.

“Since it’s just so _difficult_ for you, watch me get a date by asking them _myself_ ,” Hermione snapped. She stepped over the bench and stood up, scanning the Great Hall for that familiar head of blonde hair while ignoring Ron’s comment of “Has she gone mad? No boy in their right mind would say yes to a _girl_ asking them.”

Hermione spotted Fleur and her friend just entering the Great Hall. Fleur, seemingly feeling Hermione’s gaze, looked up and made eye contact. She changed direction from the Ravenclaw table to where Hermione was standing, her friend following hot on her heels.

“Bonjour, ‘Ermione. I do not believe zat you ‘ave met Clara yet?” Fleur said, gesturing to her brunette friend.

“I ‘ave ‘eard all about you, ‘Ermione. Eet ees great to finally meet you,” Clara said, stepping forward and shaking Hermione’s hand. She noticed Ginny staring at her with wide eyes, and proceeded to take the empty seat on Ginny’s left side. “And you must be Ginny! Zat shade of red for your ‘air ees wonderful, I love eet.”

Hermione turned back to Fleur. “So, Fleur, have you gotten yourself a date to the ball yet?”

“Non, zough not for ze lack of suitors,” Fleur laughed. She watched Ron’s face turn the usual shade of purple out of the corner of her eye.

“Would you like to be my date then?” The words were out of Hermione’s mouth before she could even realize that she was speaking. Fleur seemed taken aback at first. Her mouth dropped open a bit and her eyes widened, but she recovered before Hermione had a chance to regret it. Ron and Harry, however, were absolutely gobsmacked. Ron, who had just taken a drink of his juice, allowed his jaw to drop, thus spilling all the pumpkin juice in his mouth into his lap, and Harry froze with a bite of eggs halfway to his mouth.

“Of course I will be your date, ‘Ermione,” Fleur answered, much to the surprise of the two boys. “I planned on asking you myself, zough eet seems zat you beat me to the punch.” She smiled prettily and dropped a kiss onto Hermione’s cheek before settling herself down in the empty spot beside Hermione’s vacated seat.

Hermione took her seat between Ginny – who was caught in a very animated conversation with Clara – and Fleur with a proud smile. She winked at a frozen Ron. “Told you it wasn’t that hard.”

Fleur laughed, smoothly slid an arm about Hermione’s waist, and planted another kiss to her cheek. “I zink zat you broke your frainds.”

“He’ll get over it.”


	8. Of Revelations and Musings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione discovers Fleur's secret in a roundabout way and manages to baffle Fleur yet again.

Most people prefer the smell of petrichor or mint, or even bacon and chocolate, but for Hermione, books that were redolent of paper and ink were superior to all the other scents that she had come to know. The Hogwarts library, filled with thousands of old books, was just about the only place that Hermione could appreciate the aroma of an old book. She could tell what time period the book had been from just from the scent – an almond-like odor typically meant it was over a thousand years old from the ground wood that was used to make paper, though an oily or woody smell meant it was more recent.

At this particular moment, Hermione was in no rush to choose a book. She simply desired to leisurely stroll between the massive shelves and flip through any book that caught her interest. She had already skimmed through the table of contents of four books, two of which were about wandlore, one about locking charms, and another on how to learn wandless and silent casting, which she tucked under one arm to check out later. Harry may find it handy for the next task.

Hermione turned at the end of the aisle and ventured into a particularly dusty row of shelves. Not one to allow dust to deter her, the young witch stepped inside and pulled out her wand with a murmured _“Lumos!”_ to shed some light on the weathered titles. She leaned in to read the title of a book with a blue cover that had a brown stain on it that looked suspiciously like blood. Or maybe chocolate? The silver lettering was peeling in some places but Hermione could still make out _Lucan Lysander’s Guide to Magical Humanoids_ through the murk. Intrigued, Hermione tucked her still lit wand behind her ear and pulled it from the shelf. The cover had more brown spatters on it, though Hermione couldn’t tell if it was actually old blood, or some sort of chocolate. Shrugging, she flipped it open to the table of contents and read through the list.

“Page 1, introduction… page 9, goblins…elves…” Hermione murmured aloud as she skimmed further down the page. She saw a section about centaurs as well as a chapter on giants, dementors, and even one on vampires, but at the very bottom was a section on Veela, page 385. Remembering the Veela from the Quidditch World Cup, Hermione snapped the book closed and walked over to a table hidden in a corner. “Let’s see just what Veela are…”

Hermione flicked through the rotting tome until she came to page 385. On the page was a drawing of an avian-like woman with dark blue feathers that were so dark they were almost black. These feathers went from her neck all the way down to her thighs, which then turned into scales that were a shocking bright blue hue – a dramatic contrast to the dark blue of her torso. Her wings were scaly, and had the same bright blue color with light green speckled throughout. Her face was drawn into a frown, or as much of a frown as she could muster with a long, black, pointed beak instead of a mouth. Wickedly curved claws replaced her fingers and toes, and they looked sharp enough to gut someone in one swipe. The only human resemblance she had was flowing blonde hair down to her waist; the almond shaped eyes of a human – though they were black as tar – and a womanly humanoid figure, curves and all, though everything was covered with feathers or scales.

Hermione turned the page and read:

_The Veela are a race of semi-human, semi-magical humanoids that are reminiscent of the Vila in muggle Slavic folklore, and form tribes deep in forests and marshes. Very little is known about their biology, though one thing is certain: they appear to be young, beautiful humans. Their looks and ritualistic dances are magically seductive to all human beings that find the female form attractive._

_Veela have control over an ancient and powerful magic that does not require a wand. They typically assume the form of a beautiful young woman, but when provoked, change into a creature more along the lines of a Harpy. Their faces turn into cruel-beaked bird heads while long scaly wings burst from their shoulders and feathers and scales cover the remainder of their body._

Hermione leaned back in her seat and rubbed her eyes with a sigh. So far, these Veela sounded like temperamental and vicious creatures. She decided to keep reading.

_Throughout my time studying these elusive humanoids, I have discovered that there are no full-blooded male Veela. To reproduce, two Veela perform a magical ritual that mixes their genes and impregnates one of them. The child then develops and is born much like a human child, though it will always be a full-blooded female Veela._

_The Veela are not limited to just members of their tribe to reproduce – some venture out and find their mate, whether it be a wizard or a witch or a muggle. When a Veela has a male mate, they reproduce just like humans and if it is a female mate, they perform the ritual. Both of these relationships may produce either a male or female half-Veela._

_I have observed that these half-Veela have the same traits as their full-blooded mother. Half-Veela possess the same ancient magic, have blonde hair, can transform into Harpy-like creatures, and their beauty is magically amplified. The half-Veela temperament is typically calmer, more rational, and slower to anger. Quarter-Veela have the same abilities as their predecessors and are much calmer than their full-blooded grandmother, but equally as dangerous when angered._

Hermione slowly closed the book as she mulled over all this new information. The magically amplified beauty would definitely explain Fleur’s effect on people. But everything else? Hermione hadn’t seen anything else other than the silky blonde hair that would lead her to believe that Fleur was part-Veela. But there was still something about her that wasn't completely human...

“I’ll just go ask her,” Hermione said with a shrug as she stood. “What harm could it do?”

Hermione shoved the humanoid book and wandless casting book into her bag and slung it over her shoulder. She marched determinedly out of the library but quickly realized that she had no clue where Fleur was. She decided to first check the astronomy tower since it was the closest place and seemed like somewhere that Fleur would hang out. However, the trek up the winding staircase only rewarded Hermione with a side stitch and a chill from a sudden gust of early December air.

On her way down from the tower, Hermione suddenly remembered the necklace that Fleur had given her. She lifted a hand to it and noticed that it was stone cold, a sure sign that Fleur was nowhere near this end of the castle. Hermione took off down the corridor and descended a staircase to the third floor. She continued down to the second floor when she realized that the necklace had grown warmer. This wild goose chase lasted for fifteen minutes before the necklace finally led her to a portrait of a bowl of fruit – the doorway to the kitchen. Hermione tickled the pear in the portrait. The pear squirmed and giggled before transforming into a green doorknob. She twisted the doorknob and stepped inside the kitchen.

The kitchen was a gigantic, high-ceilinged room with five tables identical to the ones in the Great Hall above them, and these tables were also positioned in the exact same position. Heaps of pots and pans were piled on shelves, countertops and stoves, and a large brick fireplace was at the other end of the hall from the door.

Fleur was seated at a small square table that was meant for the house elves with an elf wearing three baseball hats stacked on one another, mismatched socks of varying lengths, a muggle child’s swimming trunks, and a bright green, child’s dinosaur shirt. The fashion disaster of an elf looked up at the sound of the door swinging open and beamed once he saw who it was.

“Miss Grangey!” Dobby exclaimed happily. “Dobby is so excited to see Miss Grangey again! How is Dobby’s Harry Potter? Harry Potter is safe, yes?”

Dobby launched himself at Hermione and happily hugged her knees. Hermione bent down to properly hug him. “It’s good to see you too, Dobby. Harry is well and safe, and I’m sure he misses you.”

Dobby’s pointed ears perked up. “Miss Grangey really thinks that Harry Potter misses Dobby?”

“Of course, Dobby,” Hermione said.

“Dobby will go talk to Harry Potter right now. Will Miss Grangey talk to Miss Del-coo while Dobby is gone?” he requested, his large, glassy green eyes shining with hope.

Hermione smiled. “Of course, Dobby.”

Dobby squeaked in excitement and Disapparated with a loud _crack_ , leaving Fleur and Hermione alone. Hermione took Dobby’s seat at the table with a bit of difficulty much to Fleur’s amusement – the chair barely made it past her knees, after all.

“Bonsoir, ma chérie,” Fleur said. She scooted a glass of pumpkin juice closer to Hermione along with a licorice wand. “What brings you to ze kitchen?”

“You.” Fleur raised an eyebrow as the corner of her mouth quirked up. “I was in the library when I encountered a book, and I’d like to ask a couple questions about it.”

“Of course,” Fleur replied. She leaned back in the tiny chair, her legs kicked off to one side. Hermione’s mouth went dry at the sight of Fleur’s long legs. She tugged at her collar a bit and averted her eyes. Fleur cleared her throat with a smirk.

“Right, um,” Hermione searched through her bag for the book, using the time to compose herself. She pulled it out and slid it across the table. Fleur lightly traced the title with a thoughtful expression. “I found this book, and there’s a section on Veela.” She watched Fleur closely for any sort of reaction, of which there was none. “What I read has led me to believe that you are part-Veela. Is this true?”

“Oui,” Fleur replied simply.

“Wait, really?” Hermione asked, a bit bewildered that it was that easy to get an answer out of her. She thought she would have to press a bit harder for an answer.

“Maman ees a half-Veela,” Fleur said. “Gabrielle and I are quarter-Veela. While I am sure zat ze book provided you wiz basic information, I am certain zat zere was no mention of ze true nature of ze Veela, correct?” Hermione nodded. “Eef you would like, I ‘ave a book on Veela een my quarters on ze carriage, or I could give you a basic rundown right now.”

“I’d like to talk about it right now if you wouldn’t mind,” said Hermione.

“Of course, ma chérie.” Fleur took a quick sip of pumpkin juice before she began. “Veela are very loving creatures. Zey cherish family and love, and may only experience true love from zeir mate. Full-blooded Veela may only ‘ave relationships stronger zan friendship wiz zeir mate, while part-Veela may have relationships with whomever they please – but zey will only feel truly complete wiz zeir mate.”

Fleur flipped open the book to the page about Veela and quickly skimmed through the first few paragraphs. “I see zat zis man spoke of ze ritual. Zough he neglected to mention zat Veela, no matter eef zey are full-blood or part-Veela, may only reproduce wiz zeir mate. Zis ritual ees very intimate and magically draining, and requires unquestionable trust.”

“Do you know what the ritual consists of?”

“Non. Ze couple would ‘ave to ask ze mère couvée – ze leader of ze clan, or een my case, my grand-mère – and zen she would eenstruct zem on ze ritual.”

Hermione remembered the drawing on the previous page. “Can you transform into that other form? The one that looks like a Harpy?”

Fleur turned back to look at the drawing. “Oui. My face does not ‘ave such a cruel looking beak, but my features do sharpen much like a bird’s.”

“How many times have you shifted?”

“Six, maybe. No more zan zat.”

Hermione leaned back, allowing all this new information to sink in. Fleur didn’t appear to be worried whatsoever that Hermione knew that she was part-Veela.

“Why answer all my questions?” Hermione asked. “Why not lie about your heritage?”

“You were bound to find out eventually, ‘Ermione,” Fleur replied simply. She seemed unperturbed. “I do not share my ‘eritage wizzout reason, but I will not deny eet. Eet ees only a secret to zose zat have not asked.”

“I always knew there was something different about you,” Hermione said, remembering all the stares the Delacour family attracted back in France and how Fleur and Gabrielle seemed to float rather than walk.

Fleur lightly tossed her head back and laughed. Hermione’s stomach jumped at the sound of it and she couldn’t stop the dreamy smile that curved her lips. She was already hopeless when it came to this girl and they weren’t even dating yet. ‘ _Soon_ ,’ thought Hermione.

“Well, ma chérie, ees zat all of your questions?” Fleur asked, a tender look in her eyes.

“Yes, I do believe so,” Hermione stated. She stuffed the book back into her bag and stood. Fleur held up a hand for Hermione to help her out of the tiny chair.

“Allow me to walk you back, ‘Ermione,” said Fleur as she got her long legs back under her.

Hermione offered no argument, so the two set out with a dozen licorice wands for the trip to the seventh floor. Fleur held open the portrait for Hermione to step through first, tipping her head with a grin as the brunette passed.

The two girls walked in silence for a bit, their main focus being on consuming the licorice wands, but also on each other. Hermione kept shooting glances out of the corner of her eye at Fleur as she chewed. Even with her restricted vision and the dim light from the torches she could see just how pretty the French witch was.

The torchlight flickered prettily across Fleur’s features, allowing Hermione to spot a light dusting of freckles across her prominent cheekbones and a mole smaller than the nail on her pinky finger near her ear. And her lips looked so kissable and – _‘Stop it, Hermione, you’re such a hopeless gay,’_ she thought to herself.

As Hermione was silently berating herself, Fleur startled her back into reality by casually slipping her hand into Hermione’s slightly ink-stained hand. When Hermione turned her head to look up at Fleur, the taller girl merely smiled back and loosely intertwined their fingers.

“I ‘ope you do not mind zis,” Fleur said softly as she lightly squeezed her hand.

“N-no, not at all.” Hermione stammered with a blush.

Unfortunately for the two girls, they arrived at the entrance to the Gryffindor Common Room far earlier than either of them had hoped. The Fat Lady was sitting in the left corner of her portrait, staring glumly at an empty champagne flute as she absentmindedly picked at the sleeves of her dress. Her cheeks were flushed, hinting that she had had a little too much to drink.

“Well,” Hermione said, idly running a thumb over Fleur’s knuckles, “this is my stop.”

“Bonne nuit, ma chérie,” Fleur murmured.

“Goodnight, Fleur,” replied Hermione. “Fais de beaux rêves.”

Fleur smiled at the French phrase, her blue eyes reminding Hermione of the first time they met. Fleur leaned in and left a soft kiss just on the tip of Hermione’s nose.

“You missed,” Hermione said, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she could stop them.

“Que?” Fleur appeared thoroughly confused – she had meant to kiss her nose, after all.

Hermione grinned cheekily. “You missed my lips. But don’t worry about it – you’ll have another chance later.”

Fleur exploded with a laugh, earning herself a sharp glare and a groan from the Fat Lady. “And when might my next chance be, ma chérie?”

“Next weekend is a scheduled Hogsmeade visit,” Hermione answered. “You want to go together?”

“I would like zat,” Fleur said. “Eet ees a date.”

“It’s a date.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for keeping up with this story! I do believe that you guys would have enjoyed this chapter (because I sure did!) and I'm already working on the next one. Feel free to suggest something that you would like to see, like more Harry, more Ron, more Fleur, more or less of whatever, bring in Crookshanks, sassy McGonagall, whatever you want. I'm not the greatest at coming up with filler points to get me to the big events that I have planned, so this would really help me out, and also give you guys something that you would like to see. Thank you so much!


	9. McGonagall Strikes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione casually breaks some news to her parents. Meanwhile, McGonagall takes no shit.

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_I realize that I haven’t written to you since October, but I promise that this letter will make it all up to you. A lot has happened since my last letter, but I think it would be best if I kept this one a bit short and to the point. Merlin knows I won’t though._

_This year, Hogwarts is hosting the Triwizard Tournament. This tournament is a magical contest between the three largest wizarding schools in Europe: Hogwarts, of course, Durmstrang Institute, and Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, and each school is represented by one person called a Champion. Usually anyone of any age is allowed to enter, but the headmasters of each school decided that an age limit would be best, so anyone seventeen or older could enter their name. Durmstrang and Beauxbatons each brought about twelve students and they’re all staying somewhere on the Hogwarts grounds._

_Viktor Krum is the Durmstrang champion, but he’s also a famous Quidditch player on the Bulgarian national team and Ron’s role model – Ron would snog Krum if ever given the opportunity! Cedric Diggory from Hufflepuff was chosen for Hogwarts, and the ‘Puffs are quite proud that their house is finally getting some recognition. And get this: Fleur Delacour is the Beauxbatons champion! I never imagined that I would ever see her again, but she’ll be here until the end of June! On the dire side of things, Harry was drawn as the fourth champion, which has never happened in the history of the tournament before – it’s called the Triwizard tournament after all. Ron acted like a bit of a prat about it for a while, but he’s over it now for the most part. I’m helping Harry however I can, and I can just feel that he’ll do just as well as the other Champions._

_Since I know you’ll ask about her in your next letter, yes, Fleur and I have been spending some time together. She’s even taller than she was nearly two years ago. She should be about your height now, Mum. Fleur gets along great with Ginny and I couldn’t be any happier about that. Sometimes they study together in the library – Ginny helps Fleur with English words she doesn’t know and Fleur helps her with some more complex spells – or occasionally brave the cold December winds and go for walks across the grounds together. I’ve also met Fleur’s friend, Clara Rousseau, who never wears her hair out of a braid and could talk for hours about anything, but she’s really nice. Ginny gets along with her really well too, but Ron turns an awfully dark shade of purple whenever either one of them is within ten feet of him._

_I hope the dentistry practice is going well. Has Dad been bitten yet since I’ve been gone? He’s always been the one that the kids like to bite. I would say that I would see you soon for Christmas break in a week and a half, but the Tournament includes a Yule Ball that I’ll be attending. I asked Fleur to be my date a couple days ago and she said yes. I’ll be sure to send you guys an extra gift as an apology for not being able to spend this time of the year with you._

_Happy Holidays_

_Love,_

_Hermione_

Hermione double checked her letter to make sure that she had crossed every _t_ and dotted every _i_. Once that was complete, she carefully blew on it to dry the ink before rolling it up and tying it up with a length of twine (her parents loved receiving “scrolls” from the owls that Hermione sent. She didn’t understand why considering the fact that she was a witch, not a withered old scholar. But Hermione didn’t fight it – she rarely saw her parents anymore, so any way that she could make them happy, she would do it).

A glance at her muggle watch confirmed that lunch was nearly over. She didn’t have enough time to run across the castle to the owlery, but she did have a free period after Transfiguration. She would send her letter off then.

Hermione put the stopper in her inkwell and placed it within a pocket of her bag, along with her quill. The letter followed into the same pocket. She checked her watch again. Five more minutes until lunch was over. Her stomach growled. Maybe she would stop by the kitchen for something light before she would make the trek to the owlery. She stood and slung her bag over her shoulder before walking across the common room to the portrait hole. She reached out to push open the Fat Lady’s portrait when it suddenly yanked open from the other side and a head full of bright red hair popped into her vision.

“There you are!” Ginny exclaimed. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you! Why have you been holed up in here?”

“I was writing a letter to my parents,” Hermione answered.

“Well, you missed lunch, so I brought you a turkey sandwich with lettuce and tomato. I figured it was better than nothing,” Ginny said, holding the sandwich out to Hermione.

Hermione smiled, touched by the simple gesture from her redheaded friend. She imagined that Ron or Harry wouldn’t have bothered and just assumed that she skipped on purpose. “Thanks, Gin. Come walk with me?” The two easily fell into step, with Hermione attempting to eat her sandwich as fast as possible, but with dignity.

“So,” Ginny started, a mischievous grin already forming. “A little birdie told me that you have a date this weekend.”

“The Fat Lady was gossiping again, wasn’t she?” Hermione guessed.

“Well what else do you expect her to do? She’s cooped up in that frame all the time with nothing to do but drink and gossip.”

Hermione shrugged. “But yeah, I do have a date. With Fleur.” She smiled at the thought of her not-quite-girlfriend.

“No, I thought it was with Malfoy,” Ginny said, sarcasm nearly dripping from every word. She elbowed Hermione. “Anyhow, while you’ve been off with your little French girlie, I’ve snagged myself a date to the ball.”

“Oh really? And who’s the poor soul?”

Ginny barked out a laugh. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, ‘Mione. It’s Neville, and _he_ asked _me_ , so don’t be throwin’ him a pity party just yet. Wait ‘til I’ve flattened his toes for that.”

“Oh, be quiet,” Hermione hissed as she fought off her own laugh. “Get to class and learn something.”

Ginny walked ahead of Hermione and turned until she was walking backwards. She held her arms out in indignation. “It’s History of Magic, sweet cheeks. I’m not going to learn a whole lot with Binns.”

“At least take _some_ notes,” Hermione insisted, choosing to ignore the nickname just this once.

“We’ll see how I’m feeling.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“To those of you that recall, I had instructed you to transfigure a teapot into a tortoise last year.” McGonagall stood tall and proud at the front of the classroom. Her emerald robes looked as elegant as ever but she had ditched the pointed hat today, choosing instead to showcase the tight bun she normally put her hair in. A cage full of tittering hedgehogs was placed on her desk behind her. “Today, you will be expected to transfigure a hedgehog into a pincushion – the opposite of what you have completed before.” She gestured to the chalkboard behind her and a series of complex symbols and shapes appeared, followed by the customary groans from all the students. “These are the notes over the theory of this spell – be sure to copy them down. The incantation is _rursus verto_. Repeat it now, chop chop.”

_“Rursus verto,”_ everyone chanted back.

With that being done, Professor McGonagall waved her hand once more and the hedgehogs from within the cage zoomed around the room until each student had one. Ron’s hedgehog immediately tried to scurry away but skidded to a stop at the edge of his desk, seeming to value its life more than escape. Harry’s hedgehog had no problem with jumping off the desk, and it was Harry’s Quidditch reflexes that helped him catch the tiny animal before it hit the floor. Ron quickly built a sort of fort with his book and various objects from within his bag so it wouldn’t try to escape again. Instead of dealing with the hassle of building a makeshift pen, Hermione quickly said _“Immobulus!”_ to freeze her hedgehog in place.

“Good thinking, ‘Mione,” Harry said as he copied her. His hedgehog started to squeak in fright. “Bloody animal… _Silencio!_ ”

Hermione turned to watch Ron’s first attempt at transfiguring the hedgehog into a pincushion. He swung his arm out wide and made a couple circles with the tip of his wand before saying the incantation. When he noticed that nothing happened, he tapped the animal on the head a couple times, and then poked it with his finger. It fell over from his jab and then scurried away. Harry snorted.

“Honestly, Ronald, you don’t need to brandish your wand like such a prat. You’re going to take someone’s _eye_ out,” Hermione scolded. “Just point your wand at the hedgehog, say the incantation, and gently tap it on the head.” She decided to demonstrate for him. She pointed her wand at her frozen target, said _“Rursus verto!”_ and tapped it on the head. The edges of the hedgehog blurred and then with a soft _pop,_ it turned into a pincushion.

“Well done, Miss Granger!” McGonagall said from across the classroom. “And on the first try, too! Twenty points to Gryffindor.”

Ron turned back to his hedgehog with a determined look in his eyes. He pointed his wand at his hedgehog, chanted _“Rursus verto!”_ and tapped it on the head with the tip of his wand. The hedgehog squeaked once before it turned into a pincushion with a _pop_.

“Nice job, mate!” Harry said as he elbowed Ron in congratulations.

Suddenly, the three friends heard snickering and chortling from the Slytherin side of the room. Malfoy had a hold of his hedgehog by one of its hind legs and was swinging it to and fro as Pansy jabbed at it with her wand. A faint yellow spell shot out and hit the hedgehog, causing it to suddenly swell and balloon, much like what happened to Harry’s aunt Marge last year. Malfoy poked it this time and it deflated, though he jabbed it again and its head shrank down, making it look rather ridiculous. The cries of the poor animal must’ve reached McGonagall because she whirled around from Neville’s desk, lips pursed into a thin line.

“Mr. Malfoy! Miss Parkinson!” McGonagall barked, her eyes drilling holes into the two of them. The two of them flinched back, Malfoy dropping the hedgehog in the process. McGonagall summoned the hedgehog to her before it could hit the ground and she cancelled any enchantments that had been put on it before stalking closer to the Slytherin duo.

“Malfoy is really gonna get it now,” Ron muttered gleefully.

Hermione shivered. “You can feel the magic pouring off of Professor McGonagall,” she said reverently. The air around McGonagall shimmered with the magic she was exuding in her anger and her hair was starting to fall out of its bun.

“The two of you are supposed to be learning the powerful art of transfiguration,” McGonagall said through gritted teeth, barely managing to restrain herself, “not torturing the animals that I give you to practice on. The next time that you don’t take my class seriously, will be the _last_ time. Do I make myself clear?” The two paled and nodded their heads. “Good. Now, I will be taking fifteen points from the both of you, and you can both serve a detention with me tonight after dinner.” She then turned and started back toward her desk.

“Just wait until my father hears about this,” Malfoy muttered to his friends, though not quietly enough because McGonagall whirled back around with fire in her eyes.

“Yes, Mr. Malfoy, do try to explain the circumstances regarding your punishment to your father. I can’t imagine he’ll be pleased to hear that you’ve tortured an animal and disrespected your professor, and not to mention went running back to your father to complain of the punishment you’ve received for doing so. Fifty more points will be taken from Slytherin and you’ll now have a whole week’s worth of detentions with me,” McGonagall snapped.

The Gryffindor side burst out in cheers, applause, and laughter at the look on Malfoy’s face. Ron blew a loud whistle and gave Harry a high five before leaning over and ruffling Hermione’s hair. She halfheartedly swatted at his hand, but she was far too pleased with McGonagall to care.

“Alright, settle down,” McGonagall said, but the small smile on her face betrayed her words. “Get back to practicing.”

It took a few minutes for everyone to properly settle down, but by the end of the class period, every Gryffindor had been able to transfigure their hedgehog into a pincushion, while only a third of the Slytherins managed it. Hermione, Ron, and Harry left class laughing, still imagining the look on Malfoy’s face once McGonagall chastised him and his father.

“I’d say that was our most successful Transfiguration lesson yet,” Ron commented. He was awfully proud that he managed to transfigure the hedgehog after just two tries.

Harry laughed. “This was the first time that you actually managed to transfigure something while _in_ the classroom.”

Ron shoved Harry. “Shove it, you tosser,” Ron grumbled. Harry continued to laugh at his friend’s expense. “Well, at least I’ve managed to ask someone to the Yule Ball!”

“You seem to have forgotten that I asked Cho last week,” Harry shot back. “Besides, she said no to you, so I wouldn’t necessarily be bragging about that.”

“Who did you ask, Ron?” Hermione asked. This was news to her – she didn’t even know that he had asked anyone.

His ears turned red. “Fleur’s friend,” he said quietly, his blush spreading to his face now. “The one with the braid that Ginny likes to hang out with.”

“Clara? You asked Clara to the ball?” Hermione asked.

“Well, I had originally planned on asking Fleur, but then you beat me to it – congrats by the way, very nice catch – and I also find Clara really attractive but I guess I could settle for Susan Bones or someone,” Ron rambled sheepishly.

Hermione smiled smugly. “So you approve of Fleur?”

“Well, yeah,” Ron said as if it were obvious. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Just making sure you’re not too jealous that I beat you to it,” Hermione joked.

“I’m sure that Fleur likes you more than Ron anyway,” Harry said, earning himself a glare from Ron. “Don’t give me that look. You’ve seen how Fleur is always touching her. You may be a wanker sometimes but you’re not blind.”

“I am _not_ a wanker!”

“Yes you are. A bloody thickheaded wanker.”

“Hey!”

Hermione listened to the two boys argue with a content smile. She didn’t even mind that Ron wanted to ask Fleur to the ball because she knew that he had literally zero chance and she may have just saved him from a humiliating experience. But the best thing about it was that her friends didn’t care that she and Fleur were basically a Thing™ – they took it in stride and had no expectations for her. Everything was nice and simple.

“Hermione, I’m not _actually_ a wanker, am I?” Ron asked, drawing her attention back to the present.

“You’re a bit of a wanker, actually,” she responded. Harry cackled madly as Ron sputtered in protest.

She smiled. Everything was great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope that you guys enjoyed this chapter! Unfortunately, I'll be updating less frequently over the course of the summer. I just graduated and will be starting a job that keeps me working 50+ hours a week. I'll certainly be rolling in it, but that also means I'll have very little time to write. I'm not abandoning this story, don't worry about that, but updates will certainly be slower.


	10. Date Prep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The very beginning of Hermione and Fleur's date.
> 
> (Mostly filler)

“Hermione! What are you  _ doing _ ? You have a date!”

Hermione reluctantly tore her gaze from the Veela book that Fleur let her borrow to see Ginny standing with her hands on her hips at the end of Hermione’s bed. She had just gotten to the chapter about the very first Veela tribe,  and she didn’t particularly want to stop reading. Plus her date wasn’t for another hour. Breakfast was still in progress and Fleur wouldn’t be finished eating for another forty minutes at least. She liked to forgo eating her breakfast when she had Clara and the surrounding Ravenclaws to chat with. 

“My date isn’t for another hour. What’s the rush?” Hermione asked, returning her attention back to the pages before her.

“‘What’s the  _ rush _ ?!’” Ginny cried indignantly, placing a hand over her heart as though Hermione had cruelly betrayed her. “Sweet cheeks, what did you plan on wearing? Are you going casual? Sophisticated? Do you even know?”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “I was going to wear my jeans, and a coat. Maybe a hat and scarf because it’s cold.”

“Aren’t you going to try to look cute?” she asked.

“Well,” Hermione snapped the book closed with a pointed glare, “I’m sure Fleur is going to wear the exact same thing. And if she doesn’t, then she won’t even care what I’m wearing.”

“Well what am I supposed to help you with?” Ginny pouted. She crossed her arms and slumped onto the foot of Hermione’s bed. “As one of your closest female friends, it is my duty to help prepare you for your first date. It’s an unspoken rule.” She was met with a roll of Hermione’s eyes. “Oh, come on, Hermione! I’ll do your makeup!”

“Absolutely not.” Hermione vehemently shook her head, her frizzy curls bouncing against her shoulders. 

Ginny harrumphed. “Can I do your hair then?”

“Well…” Hermione had no argument prepared for that. What would be the harm in it? She would end up putting on a hat anyway. “I don’t see why not.”

Ginny wasted no time in moving behind Hermione and combing her fingers through her friend’s thick hair. She tugged Hermione’s head back to get to her hairline, and started dividing up her hair into even chunks. “So what did you plan to do for your date? Go to Madam Puddifoot’s?”

Hermione grimaced as Ginny tugged particularly hard on a lock of hair. “Not exactly. I figured we could take a walk around Hogsmeade first; then stop at a couple stores like Honeydukes, Scrivenshaft’s, and Tomes and Scrolls; and then have lunch at the Three Broomsticks.” 

“You forgot to plan your snogging time, sweet cheeks,” Ginny jested with a laugh. She leaned to the side a bit to catch a glimpse of Hermione’s red cheeks. “Where will you squeeze that in? Perhaps after Honeydukes? Oh! During your nice, romantic walk around the village, I bet.” 

“Ginevra!” Hermione slapped at Ginny’s leg as her face started to burn even hotter.

“I recommend waiting to snog until after you’ve gone to Honeydukes,” Ginny continued nonchalantly, returning her focus to the braid she was currently twisting into her friend’s hair.

Hermione raised a brow, despite the fact that Ginny couldn’t see her face. “And why’s that?”

Ginny grinned devilishly. “So you can taste the sugar on each other’s lips.”

There was an explosion of giggles and incoherent yelling as Hermione whipped around and shoved Ginny over, nearly sending her toppling off the edge of the bed. Hermione smacked Ginny’s arm several times, eventually grabbing her book and threatening to drop the heavy tome over Ginny’s head while simultaneously poking at ticklish spots with her free hand. 

“Hermione Jean Granger, don’t you  _ dare _ drop that book on me!” Ginny shrieked. She twisted out of Hermione’s grasp and flopped back onto the floor all in one motion. “Now, don’t be so scandalized, you know you’re going to take my advice.”

Hermione’s blush spread from her collarbones all the way up to the tips of her ears. “Stop being ridiculous and finish doing my hair.” 

Ginny kneeled behind Hermione once more and gathered up the discarded ends of her hair with minimal comments. Though she couldn’t resist with the occasional jibe as she finished braiding Hermione’s hair.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Ginny tapped her chin in thought as she studied Hermione’s appearance through squinted eyes. Braid poking out from underneath a Gryffindor hat, Gryffindor scarf, a well-worn brown coat, blue jeans, and Hermione’s worn trainers. Not quite what Ginny had in mind, but it worked well for her friend. 

“You got Gryffindor socks on as well?” Ginny said instead. “Because you look like a walking Gryffindor advertisement.”

Hermione rolled her eyes with a huff. “I don’t have any other hats, Gin. Nor scarves.”

Ginny huffed, before deciding to change the subject. “So when are you meeting Fleur?”

“Ten minutes.”

“Oh!” Ginny clapped excitedly. “Can I walk you down? Give her the ol’ “if you hurt her, I’ll hurt you” talk?”

“Oh, Ginny, I don’t really think that’ll be necessary…” Hermione said. She grimaced as a pang of remorse settled into her gut when Ginny’s face fell, her shoulders caving in on her lithe frame. Hermione sighed. She just knew she would end up regretting this… “Okay, well, maybe you can wait until  _ after _ a couple dates before you give her The Talk, but-”

Hermione didn’t even get to finish her sentence before Ginny was all smiles and exuding her usual energy. The redhead threw her arms around Hermione and squeezed tight, even going so far as to press a loud, exaggerated kiss onto Hermione’s cheek. 

“You won’t regret it, sweet cheeks!” Ginny exclaimed. “But enough about that! Let’s get you to your date!”

Hermione, too stunned by the complete twist in Ginny’s mood, was left to be dragged along by the overzealous redhead. Ginny had managed to get Hermione down the dormitory stairs, out of the portrait hole, and halfway down the seventh floor corridor before Hermione’s feet finally started to work of their own accord. 

The two of them ducked through tunnels tucked behind tapestries, down hidden staircases, and even through a trick wall before finally stopping in the corridor outside the Great Hall. Students slowly trickled out of the Great Hall as they finished breakfast, the older ones immediately exiting the castle in the direction of Hogsmeade while the younger students turned toward their common rooms. Hermione tucked herself against a windowsill to wait for Fleur, unconsciously twisting her scarf in her hands and occasionally readjusting the lapels of her coat until Ginny finally swatted her hands back to her side. 

Ginny stepped in front of Hermione with a bit of a huff. She smoothed down Hermione’s coat for her, the little scrunch between the redhead’s eyes reminding Hermione an awful lot of Mrs. Weasley. “Now,” Ginny began, “don’t do anything stupid.”

“Gee, thanks, Gin. Very reassuring,” Hermione drawled with a roll of her eyes. Ginny continued straightening out Hermione’s clothing, only gracing her friend with a small harrumph in response. Hermione almost expected her to lick her thumb and wipe some dirt off her face at the rate she was going. 

“Bonjour, ‘Ermione, Ginny,” came Fleur’s smooth voice.

Hermione hastily swatted Ginny’s hands away from her clothing as her face flushed a bright red. She raked her eyes down Fleur’s form - jeans with a small rip in one knee, a simple coat, and earmuffs dangling around her neck - before meeting Fleur’s own eyes, a knowing smirk plastered on the blonde’s face. 

“Good morning, Fleur,” Hermione said with a smile as she regained her confidence.  _ There’s no need to be nervous - it’s just Fleur, after all _ , she thought to herself.  _ I can do this. I can do this. _ “You enjoy breakfast?”

“Oui, eet was excellent, as always,” Fleur answered smoothly. She reached out and gently fingered at the end of Hermione’s braid. “I like ze braid, eet ees a very nice touch.” Ginny looked inordinately smug about the indirect praise.

Hermione cleared her throat as her confidence fled her once more and another blush colored her cheeks. 

“Alright,” Ginny said, clapping her hands together with a self-satisfied grin. “I’m taking that as my cue to leave. Have fun, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” With that being said, she turned on her heel and swept back down the corridor in the direction of the Ravenclaw common room. 

Fleur returned her attention to Hermione, her smile a bit bashful and more mellow than the smirk she had before, which helped soothe Hermione’s nerves. She held out a hand. “Shall we?”

Hermione easily slipped her hand into Fleur’s. Their fingers easily intertwined and Fleur gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “We shall.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sooooooooo sorry for taking SIX. MONTHS. to update. Life has been so crazy between that stupid summer job that worked me 60 hours a week, getting a new job, and college starting.
> 
> I have the next chapter started, and by started I mean that I have two paragraphs. I know that this chapter doesn't make up for six months of nothing, but I sincerely hope that you guys still enjoy it.


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